The Blades of Eru
by Ilada'Jefiv
Summary: As Legolas flees from the orcs that killed his patrol, he stumbles onto a cave that drops him into the land of Narnia. What is his purpose here, and why does Jadis desire his death so badly?
1. Failures

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing of Narnia or Lord of the Rings. I do, however, own Tirnen and Fornest, so please do not use them without my permission.

**Warnings: **None so far, but with Legolas, you never know. This story will _**not**_ have any romance or extreme violence. I prefer to keep my stories clean so all can enjoy. There may be some light elf torture in the next chapter, however. evil grin

**A/N: **Hey, everyone, here is my first try at an x-over. The idea of crossing _Narnia_ and _LOTRs _has been plaguing my mind ever since I first watched _The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe_, and I finally decided I'd better do something about it before I go crazy. Thus, this story was born. I greatly appreciate all the advice and writing pointers I get, so I'd love it if you would review. Now, I'll stop jabbering and let you read.

** The Blades of Eru **

– – – – – – – –

**Chapter One: Failures**

The cave was eerie and foreboding, and Legolas shot another glance at the sky, unwilling to enter the blackness. However, the sky was even darker then before, as the clouds boiled and churned. Streaks of lightning shot down from the sky and scorched the ground and trees, promising destruction to all it hit.

With a sigh, he left the green foliage and hurried up to the cave, entering it just as the first large droplets splattered on the ground, and a large clap of thunder boomed menacingly.

Shivering at the dampness, he sat rather awkwardly and removed his tunic, eyeing with weariness the bandage hastily wrapped around his stomach. It was stained crimson, and he carefully removed it, pulling a second white roll from a pack before inelegantly rebinding it.

Silently, he cursed the orc whose rough sword had left its jagged mark in his side. In quick, jerky movements, he replaced the tunic, but despite the anger which coursed through him, a deep ache plagued his heart, reminding him of what was lost. His entire patrol was dead because he had underestimated the orcs' numbers. Now he was fleeing like a frightened deer before a herd of bloodthirsty monsters that were following his trail because of his failure.

Leaning back against the cave wall, he closed his eyes with a deep sigh. It wasn't suppose to end this way. Not now, not ever. Blinking back the tears which threatened him, he drew a shallow breath, wincing as the movement pained him. His head felt light from blood loss and exhaustion, and he knew he must be careful lest he fall asleep. He did not think that the orcs would make any headway in the storm, but it would not do to underestimate them again.

Carefully stretching his legs out before him, he pulled his knives from their sheaths and laid them on the rock beside him. Letting his head rest against the stone behind him, he stared out into the raging storm, paying no heed to the roars of thunder that caused the ground to shake.

Loud, coarse voices jerked him awake, and he cursed himself for falling asleep. Darkness had fallen outside, and shadowy forms moved around the cave's entrance, the soft pitter-patter of rain doing nothing to hide their careless movements.

Legolas pushed himself painfully to his feet, satisfied that the orcs had not yet seen or smelled him. But it was only a matter of time. His old, bloodied bandage would give him away surer than if he walked out now and surrendered.

He knew that his only hope lay in exploring the cave and trying to find an alternative exit, but he hated the idea of going further into the cave. Finally, with great reluctance, he silently sheathed his knives and gathered up his supplies, slipping into the yawning blackness of the cave's deeper parts.

Even his elven eyes had trouble seeing in the dim light, and he had to feel more than see his path. His side screamed at him, but he forced himself to ignore it and continue on, random bouts of dizziness causing him to stagger.

Suddenly, a harsh, triumphant yell echoed down the narrow tunnels, and Legolas felt his heart sink within him. They had found his trail. Laying aside secrecy, he ran, desperation forcing him on. Something whispered that this had all been for naught, that there was no other exit, and the orcs would eventually corner him, but he paid the despair no heed. He would cling to what hope was left, even in this dark place.

Scarcely had he thought that, when the ground dropped from beneath him, and he fell. He landed on something both soft and hard, cold and comfortable, but agony shot through his side, and everything went dark.

o-0-o-0-o-0-o-0-o-0-o

His head pounded, his side ached, and he groaned, attempting to grasp and pull back the comforting blackness that was steadily slipping away from him. For a moment, he lay still, struggling to collect and connect thoughts. _Why_ did his side hurt?

That single thought let loose a torrent of emotions and recollections. The fight. His wound. His escape. The cave. The orcs. His flight. The fall. With a gasp, he forced his eyes open and fought to sit.

Firm hands pushed him back down. "No," a gruff but strangely gentle voice said. "Just rest, young one."

His mind balked at the unfamiliar voice and words. _Young one? _His blurry vision soon cleared, and he stared at the sight before him.

A badger stood staring at him from beside a… he blinked at the other creature. It had the body of a horse but the abdomen, chest, head, and arms of a man. The man/horse met his gaze unflinchingly, and he quickly adverted his eyes, knowing he was staring.

"Sir?" The badger stepped forward. "How are you feeling?"

Legolas clenched his jaw to keep his mouth from falling open with astonishment. Did that _animal _just speak to him? This was crazy, just crazy. He closed his eyes and relaxed back into the pillows, he was on a bed after all, and moaned. "I am going mad."

"Sir –" the badger began, sounding bewildered.

"Peace, Fornest," a strong, powerful voice interrupted. "Do you not see he is confused?"

Legolas opened his eyes as the man/horse spoke, his uncertainty becoming a numbed detachment. "Yes," he said abruptly, abandoning all the diplomatic mannerism his father had instilled in him, "I am extremely confused. I have no idea what is going on, where I am, and who or what you are. To add to that, I have never before seen or met an animal, beside the evil spiders in Mirkwood, which speaks. The last thing I knew, was that I was fleeing through a cave from the orcs which had killed my patrol when I fell into some dark crevice and awoke here."

With effort, he pushed himself up on his elbow, ignoring the badger's protests, and surveyed his surroundings. He was in what seemed like a small cave which was furnished and well heated, a fire crackling merrily in the hearth. The room's furnishings were like that of a bed chamber, and the bed he lay on was low on the floor, having no mattress but being more an assortment of pillows. A wide corridor led out from the room, well lit by candles mounted on the walls, and opened into what looked like a kitchen along with a sitting and dinning room.

"I know not of any land called Mirkwood," the man/horse replied. "In answer to your questions, we found you lying in the unconscious in the snow just outside my home. You are in the land of Narnia, and I," he smiled slightly, "I am Tirnen, a centaur."

"_Mae govannen_, Tiren," Legolas answered, nodding with respect, as his mind struggled to take in what these creatures were telling him. "I am Legolas of Mirkwood." He frowned thoughtfully. "How can you have found me in snow? It was summer in Mirkwood."

Tirnen sighed heavily. "I do not understand where you are from, but here it is always winter as the white witch degrees it." He spat out the white witch as if it were poison to his tongue. "She is a tyrant, who cares about nothing but her own power and glory. Narnia is more her slave than her kingdom."

He paused, face suddenly both excited and fearful. "Are you a son of Adam?"

Legolas' brow creased. "A son of whom?"

"Of Adam," the centaur repeated. "A human."

Legolas stared at him for a moment, unsure of whether to be insulted of amused. "An _adan_? No, I am not a man – I am an elf." He winced at his tone, as the insulted side won over.

Tirnen studied him for a moment. "Are you an enemy of the sons of Adam?"

Legolas shook his head. "No, but our two kinds do not mingle much."

Tirnen nodded slowly. "I see."

Uncomfortable under the scrutiny, Legolas pushed himself into a sitting position and gently prodded his wounds through the clean looking bandage. "How long have I been unconscious?"

The centaur looked somewhat startled by the change of topic but answered, "Almost a day."

With a small smile, Legolas lifted his brown tunic and unwrapped the wound. As he had suspected, the wound was closed, only a light brown scar remaining. Tirnen and the badger gasped with surprise, and Legolas could not help but laugh.

"Quick healing is a gift to the elves," he said. "Now come, Master Badger and Tirnen, and tell me of the country of yours. I still do not understand whether this is real or if it is all a dream, but tell me all you know."

For many hours, he sat and listened to their tales of Narnia's history: the old times when there was spring, the coming of the witch and the fall of winter, the prophecy of the chosen children of Adam, and of the Lion Aslan. The great Lion intrigued him, and he pressed them for information on Aslan, but the badger and centaur knew little. They said, however, that it was rumored that the Lion was gathering an army to overthrow the witch near the stone table, around fifty leagues to the west.

After a time, their talk dropped to comfortable silence, and the badger left to bring tea and cakes. Legolas could not help but smile at the creature's words, for who would have ever imagined such words coming from the mouth of a _badger?_ He sat cross legged on the bed before the now silent centaur, pondering all he had been told. He was now almost certain he had somehow dropped into another world, and he clung tightly to that belief, unwilling to think that somehow he had gone crazy. His best option was to go to this 'stone table' and see if the rumors were true. Perhaps Aslan would be able to help him in some way. Besides, his curiosity was aroused, and he wished to meet the Lion.

He slowly stood, grimacing as his side protested. Closed though the wound was, it still pained him. "Where are my weapons?" he asked. "Were they with me when you found me?"

Tirnen hesitated, his brown eyes studying the elf carefully. "Are you leaving?"

Legolas nodded. "I must attempt to find this Aslan; perhaps, he will be able to help me."

A smile touched Tirnen's lips. "You are indeed wise, Legolas. The journey will not be an easy one, as the white witch will doubtless be alerted to your presence if she is not already." The centaur sighed, his brow creasing. "Many of the free creatures of Narnia have been beguiled by her and work as her spies, and even some of the trees are on her side. It is possible that someone spotted us carrying you here."

Legolas nodded and opened his mouth to reply, when the badger, Fornest, flew into the room, eyes glazed with fear. "She's here!"

"Who?" the elf and centaur demanded in unison.

"The witch!" the badger gasped. "She also brought her wolves. Someone betrayed us!"

"My weapons!" Legolas snapped. "Where are they?"

Tirnen pointed to a closet, and Legolas ran over and jerked the door open, hurriedly strapping his quiver on his back and stringing his bow. He placed his knives in their sheaths and jogged from the bedroom into the main room.

Tirnen was peering out one of the windows, an old, rusted sword clasped in his hands, as Legolas stepped up to his side. A woman was approaching across the glistening snow, a long blue gown offsetting her blond hair which was done up in a peculiar style. She was beautiful, with dark green eyes that seemed to shout out fury, power, and knowledge. She also carried a strange staff-like object in her hands which seemed to be made partly from ice. Wolves slunk around her, their narrowed eyes sparkling with intelligence, and he doubted not that they could also speak.

He glanced at Tirnen who was looking extremely pale. "What is the weapon she holds?" he asked.

The centaur did not tear his gaze away from the witch, as he answered tremulously. "It is like a wand. If it touches you, it turns you into stone. She possesses many strange powers."

Apprehension filled Legolas, and he ran his fingers thoughtfully down the smooth, dark wood of his bow. He knew little of magic besides that which Eru had given the Mirkwood elves to keep the palace somewhat protected, and he had rarely seen Mithrandir use it. That a potential enemy used it unsettle him, though his thoughts of home fueled an idea in his mind.

Stepping up to the door, he laid the palms of his hands on the wood and closed his eyes. Eru's power was still within him – he could feel it coursing through him, strengthening him and bringing him courage.

"_Nan Eru's __eneth,__ le __innas dartho_!" he command, and the door shuddered. "I placed a spell on the door. They will have to break it down now to get in," he informed the startled centaur.

Tirnen swished his tail, staring at him with wide eyes. "You… know magic?"

"Only what Eru has given to me," he answered, glancing quickly out the window. The witch had stopped her advance and was eying the door warily, as if she could sense that a spell was laid upon it. Tensing, Legolas laid a hand on the door and waited for her next move.

After another moment of scrutiny, the witch continued forward, a cruel smile curving the corners of her mouth. Stepping up to the door, she reached out and touched it with her hand.

Legolas jolted as her fingers brushed the wood, an unnatural pain shooting through his mind. He shut his eyes and forced back the pain, muttering, "_Nan Eru's eneth, dartho_." He knew, however, that there was little he could do if she decided to break through the door, for he knew nothing about the powers of a witch.

The witch laid both hands on the wooden door, whispering something under her breath.

Legolas jerked back as pain washed over him, but it was as if his hand was glued to the door. Cold fingers probed into his mind, feeling, touching… He cried out and fought against the strange invasion, but his resistance was feeble as he channeled his energy into the door. "_Dartho,_" he moaned the command to the door as his own strength was sapped within him. "_Dartho_."

A will fought against his, attempting to force his concentration away from the door, but he refused to be baited. The fingers in his mind seemed to clench, and he fell to his knees with a choked cry of pain.

Tirnen caught his shoulders, confused and distraught. "What is happening?" the centaur cried, struggling to steady him as Legolas' body convulsed, and the elf cried out once more.

"If I remove… my touch, she… will burst the door," Legolas replied breathlessly, his voice strained as the agony continued to slice through his mind. "I cannot hold… much longer. Forgive me." His silver-blue eyes glassed over with utter concentration, as he attempted to think and hold the door at the same time.

He wished that he could release the door and fight the witch, but he could not, for the spell refused to free him or the door. His energy was drained, and once the witch broke the spell, he would be helpless against her. Tension built between the two minds like a raging inferno traveling toward a pool of oil, creeping ever slowly towards the point of explosion. Legolas was no longer aware of anything outside of his mind but the pounding of his own heart and his ragged breathing. They formed a rhythm with his thoughts, forcing the words through his sluggish brain. _Dartho, dartho, dartho…_

No! He felt his tentative control slipping, felt the spell weakening. He could not fail, not again! He fought to regain what was lost, but it was too late. His control wavered as if balanced on the brink of a cliff before plunging off into nothingness. And abruptly, the spell broke under the witch's power.

The nails holding the hinges to the wall ripped out, and the door flew backwards into the room, throwing Legolas back before it. He slammed into the table and dropped to the floor as the door flew overhead and smashed into the far wall. He lay stunned, teetering between reality and unconsciousness, his vision blurry and colorless. Sounds seemed to meld together, but he clearly heard the snarling of the wolves and the angry cries of Tirnen and, to his surprise, Fornest. Abruptly, there were two strange noises that seemed almost like ice shifting in a river, and all fell silent.

He tried to will himself to move, to reach for a knife, but his body would not cooperate. His hand merely twitched and remained stationary. The pain in his mind was gone, replaced instead by a deep fatigue that made the darkness of unconsciousness seem like paradise.

For a brief moment, his eyesight cleared, and he looked up into the face of the witch. Her eyes were sparkling with a cruel pleasure, yet there was also fear. However, she smiled maliciously as she met his gaze, her fingers dancing over her wand. Then, his sight misted over once more, and he felt the black oblivion of unconsciousness sinking its long talons into his weary mind.

The last thing he heard was her smooth, but hate-twisted voice before the void claimed him. "You are strong, Son of Adam. Too strong…" And all dissolved into the wondrous darkness.

**Translations: **

_Mae govannen_ Well met (an elvish greeting).

_adan _man

_Nan Eru's __eneth,__ le __innas dartho _By Eru's name, you will hold

_Nan Eru's eneth, dartho _ By Eru's name, hold

_Dartho _Hold

**A/N: **To all you elvish speakers out there, I know that some of my elvish is probably incorrect. I welcome your advice on how to improve and/or fix it.

My readers, I love you all and hope you'll press the pretty little button down in the corner and tell me what you think. I will try to update as soon as possible, which may be in a week or two. 'Life' and 'nice relaxing days' are oxymorons, don't you think? By the way, free magic tickets to the world of Narnia for whoever can guess the identity of the next C.S. Lewis character Legolas will meet. ;-)

Namárië Ila


	2. The Eldar and Maiar

**Disclaimer: **See first chapter, though I think you can already guess what it says…

**Warnings: **Um… none really. Just slight mental torture and a little blood.

**A/N:** First of all, I would love to thank all my reviewers who have made my life so happy. _**bulldog129, trecebo, Pip4, Jimmy Candlestick, ligerjager, Equestriad, Peregrin Ionad, szepilona10, StrangerToTheWorld, **_and _**annalon. **__Hannon le, hannon le, _all! I apologize in advance for the poem's format. I fussed and fussed with it, but it wouldn't center.

I would like to specially thank _**trecebo**_ for writing the beautiful poem. You are indeed gifted. _Gen Hannon _to you! I would also like to announce the winner of the free magic tickets to Narnia. _**Peregrin Ionad**_! Yes, the answer is Tumnus. I hope you are enjoying your stay in that delightful land! ;-)

In answer to a question that has been asked, this story happens before _The Hobbit _and the birth of Aragorn. Why, I'm not really sure. Perhaps it's because I wanted to write a story with just Legolas, and Aragorn can never keep his nose out of the elf's business. So, I had to put it before the man's birth or else he'd end up in Narnia as well. ;-) In the Narnia universe, this is placed during _The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. _

_**bulldog129**_: You did not give me your e-mail, so I'm sorry I was unable to answer your review. I believe I answered your questions above, though.

I hope you all enjoy! – Ila

**Chapter Two: The Eldar and Maiar**

– – – – – – – –

Of Elven lands,  
Of mists on stone,  
A lost one wishes to go home

A foreign land  
A Lion's reign  
Of Deeper Magic and of pain

Will he fathom?  
Can he hold  
In the clutches of the witch so cold?

By trecebo

The darkness was comforting and soothing; it seemed to caress his soul and mind with delicate fingers, sing to him of its restfulness. Thoughts hung out of reach and seemed to blend together into a mixture of nothingness. His mind was silent, allowing him to drift without distraction or memory. He felt as if he was floating over some endless sea, a wisp of cloud to be tossed about as the wind willed. All was peaceful, still, and…cold.

And suddenly, the serenity of his existence shattered – his senses returning to him in one abrupt moment. His eyes flew open, and Legolas drew a deep ragged breath, struggling to think and see through the pounding of his head. Everything spun around him, and all colors merged into a mélange of whites, blues, and grays. Squeezing his eyes shut, he concentrated on breathing as he waited for the dizziness to pass.

Gradually, the disorientation lessened, and he reopened his eyes. He was lying, no sitting, in a room of a uniform ice blue color with his wrists chained to the wall on either side of his head. His wrists were pressing against the freezing surface which almost seemed transparent, for the room was lit with an ethereal glow.

His gaze wandered over the floor and walls, noting the barred doorway leading from the room, the coil of unused chains on the floor, and the broken bars and jagged points of ice separating him from the prison cell next to him. _Ice…_ With a thrill of horror, it suddenly occurred to him that his entire cell was made of ice.

With a low moan, he sagged back against the wall, yanking vainly at the rough steel holding his wrists against the frozen wall. He was not afraid of dying, but freezing to death was not how he ever imagined his life ending. As an elf, he could stand the cold for an extensive amount of time, but not forever. Sooner or later, the cold would erode through his defenses.

He leaned his head back against the ice wall behind him and closed his eyes, hoping against hope that this was all a nightmare. Now that he was alone, he felt afresh the pain from loosing his patrol. Two of the soldiers had been good friends, and their losses cut deeply into his heart. They had planned to leave together for Valinor someday, and now only he was left, cursed to leave eventually without them.

A lone tear escaped his closed eyelashes and traced a moist path down his cheek despite his efforts to keep his emotions bottled up inside. He wondered what would happen if he died here. Would his body be returned to Middle-Earth, or would his family never learn his fate? Would his _fëa _find its way to Mandos' halls, of would it wander forever as one of the Lost Ones? He shuddered, not even wanting to imagine the grief of his father and siblings, and dropped his chin to his chest, unable to fend off the despair which rose within him.

"Are you well, sir?"

Legolas gasped with surprise and jerked reflectively at his bonds as he attempted to reach for his nonexistent knives. Opening his eyes, he glanced over in the direction of the tentative voice, panic tinting his movements. For a moment, his tear blurred eyes saw nothing, but then they cleared and focused on the clear grey eyes gazing at him through the broken bars of the other cell.

For the first second, Legolas was speechless. The creature who had addressed him appeared to be half goat and half human. He had the face of a human with the ears of a goat and two small horns sprouting out of the curly brown hair. He had two legs like that of a goat with hooves that were chained to the floor and was bare-chested except for a red scarf. The creature's eyes, however, were warm and intelligent, though at the same time frightened and anxious.

Feeling foolish for his moment of panic, Legolas sent the creature a strained smile. "I am as well as I could be in this situation."

The creature returned the smile likewise. "I do suppose that was a foolish question. I am Tumnus, a faun," he said, bowing his head in greeting.

"_Suilaid,_" Legolas replied, his curiosity aroused,"I am Legolas of Mirkwood, an elf."

Tumnus started with surprise, his hands nervously adjusting the red scarf he wore around his neck. "You are not a human? Are you from the land of Spare Oom?"

Legolas closed his eyes for a brief moment, fighting down the irritation that rose within him. "No," he said with forced calmness. "I am _not _human or from this Spare Oom or Narnia. I am from the forest of Mirkwood in the world of Middle-Earth. I have no idea what I'm doing in Narnia or how I got here, I just want to figure out how to return home."

The faun eyed him for a moment. "You give information quite freely. How do you know I am not a spy of the Witch?"

"Well, the sooner she discovers who I truly am, the better," Legolas retorted. "Perhaps it will rid her of the idea that I am a _human_. I do not understand this prophecy a centaur named Tirnen told me about. How could four humans take back a kingdom? It is a foolish fantasy."

Tumnus' eyes lit up. "You know Tirnen? How is he?"

Legolas was silent for a moment as he remembered the two creatures that had bravely taken him in and lost their lives because of it. Rather hesitantly, he told Tumnus what how Tirnen had found him and what had happened afterward. "I did not fully understand what a risk he was taking by helping me," he finished. "But after the Witch overcame my spell, I believe she turned them into stone, though I am not sure."

Tumnus shook his head, his eyes brimming with tears. "I am certain that she did so. Tirnen was always too outspoken for his own good, and Fornest was not much better. However, I am glad that you understand our troubles and know whose side to choose."

"I choose no side," Legolas replied, eyes flashing. "I need to return home, for we have enough of our own troubles without meddling with the affairs of others."

"But how will you return home if you do not know how you came to be here?" Tumnus questioned. "The humans could use your help, also. I believe I have spoken with one, and she is but a young child."

Legolas shifted uncomfortably, feeling slightly guilty about his earlier words. "I cannot help anyone while this Witch holds me," he answered uneasily. He disliked humans, but his sense of honor resisted turning away when someone needed aid.

_What should I do? _he asked himself somewhat bitterly. _Should I perhaps give my life for some humans who might not even exist? Or should I return home and rejoin my father?_

He knew, however, that such questions were yet irrelevant. Nothing mattered until he somehow managed to escape from this icy prison. Sighing softly, he turned his attention to the iron binding his wrists.

A half hour later, just as he decided with frustration that he preferred being bound with ropes much more than chains, a loud, ominous clang echoed from the stairs leading up out of his cell. Footsteps descended the carven ice steps, and the Witch appeared before the barred doorway and pushed it open, Legolas mentally noting that she did not lock that gate.

The Witch still wore the pale blue dress and carried, to his hidden dismay, her wand. She stood studying him for a long moment, her green eyes seeming almost black in the distant light, before she stepped closer, eyeing him with distrust and hate.

"I see you are finally awake," she said with a chilling smile. "I hope you understand now that your power is nothing against mine."

"Perhaps not," Legolas answered cautiously. "However, I wish to know why you hold me prisoner. As I am not human, I cannot threaten your reign."

The Witch stared at him for a long moment, her face startled. "Not human…?"

With a longsuffering sigh, Legolas tilted his head so that his hair parted to reveal a delicately pointed ear. "I am an elf, one of the Firstborn, an Eldar. Long have I walked in the forests and mountains of my homeland, perhaps even longer then you have lived, though I know not. Have you not heard of my kind, Witch? Or has your excessive use of magic clouded your mind?"

The Witch's face was pale, and her breath came in gasps. "No," she whispered. "The gate cannot have been opened." Abruptly the confusion left her face to be replaced with desperate rage. "The worlds were hewn apart!" she snarled. "None were allowed to pass between them. How did you get here? I must know!"

Legolas eyed her warily. "Why must you know?"

"I wish to return," she said, her voice rising with fury. "I _must _return!"

"Return?" Legolas pressed, unsure of whether or not he was digging his own grave by questioning her. However, his mind breathed warnings about revealing to her what had happened to him.

The witch seemed to calm slightly, and her eyes grew unfocused and her face pensive. "I used to dwell there, long ago. I was a… Maiar, I believe it was called. Along with Sauron, I was tutored by Morgoth, but then I left Middle-Earth." Her voice was hesitant. "I do not remember how, just that I went against my will and was unable to return." Her face grew hard once more. "You _will_ tell me how you came."

"I remember no more of my coming than you do of yours," Legolas answered quietly, his mind spinning with horror at the Witch's revelations. "Thus, I can tell you nothing," his eyes flamed suddenly with rebellion and determination, "nor would I if I did."

She drew herself up, and in her anger, she appeared great and powerful, tall and fair as one of the Eldar of old. "You speak of what you do not understand, young fool," she hissed. "I will _make_ you tell me, even if I have to reach into your mind and bend it to my will. Save yourself the torment which approaches you and surrender your knowledge to me."

"You do not have the power to destroy my mind unless I allow it," Legolas fired in return. "The Eldar are the children of Eru and cannot be twisted by evil unless their resistance is broken. You may have been a Maiar, but you have fallen into shadow and become a spirit of darkness. The light of Elbereth abides in me and in no case does darkness triumph over light, for light is always victorious. Morgoth is dead, and Sauron is broken! You have lost! Release me and flee now, lest the wrath of the Valor fall on you also."

The Eldar and Maiar locked gazes, silver-blue against black-green, and the air seemed charged with tension. For long agonizing moments, the two strove in a battle of wills, but Legolas knew, with a weary certainty, the outcome before it even began. He was still drained from his struggle at the door, but the Witch seemed to have fully regained her strength and endurance. Still, he fought doggedly, ignoring the burning of his head and the dull ache of his side.

But it was in vain, and with the abrupt suddenness, she crushed his defenses like glass on rocks and drove her mental probes deep into his mind. Pain blinded him, and he thrashed and cried out in a mixture of agony and terror. Her clammy, cold fingers sunk into his mind, feeling, twisting, prodding, grasping – searching for anything that might be of use to her.

_Nan Eru's eneth, __gwanno ereb nin!_ he cried in his mind, and her hold on him slipped, just slightly, but enough for him to retaliate with a well placed jab to her mind.

She shrieked and staggered, face flushed with fury, but withdrew from his mind. For a long, agonizing moment, they stared at one another, and then, the Witch looked away.

"As I said before," she said coldly, "you are too strong. I must weaken you, if not mentally, then physically." Reaching down, she stretched out her pale hand and brushed it against his still healing wound.

Legolas recoiled as if she had sliced him with a knife, a wave of anguish dousing him in its cold covering. He moaned, panting for breath between the throbbing of his side. He forced himself to glance down and could only watch helplessly as a dark stain flowered across his tunic, and dark red drips of blood colored the ice beneath him.

"Perhaps that," she said, "will induce you to talk. If not now, then later, when you have begun to fade."

Legolas speared her with a glare of hate and contempt. "I shall not speak, no matter what you do to me," he rejoined painfully. "You are a fallen Maiar, thus you are one of the cursed _Valaraukar_, a Balrog, though you do not share their form. One day, you shall be killed by one greater than you, and your spirit will go to the doom awaiting it, for though the worlds may be separated, the realms of spirits are not. You will face the Valar and Eru and answer for your crimes."

The Witch appeared about to reply, when soft, padded footsteps sounded on the stairs and a wolf appeared behind her, tail tucked between its legs as it hunkered down in submission. "My Queen?" it asked hesitantly.

The Witch turned toward the creature with an impatient gesture. "What is it, Maugrim? I gave you explicit instructions that I was not to be disturbed."

The wolf crouched even lower, ears laid back against his head. "I beg your forgiveness for my intrusion, your majesty, but _he _is here – the one you have been waiting for."

The Witch straightened, a strange gleam entering her eyes. "Is there any others?"

"No, my queen, he is alone."

The Witch paled with rage, and Legolas pitied the hapless creature who had invoked her wrath. She turned back to face him, her once beautiful face now twisted with hate. "You shall soon have another companion, elf. Perhaps he will be able to make you see the futility of fighting me."

"_Dôl lost lîn_," Legolas muttered, hoping that she no longer remembered Sindarin. She appeared not to have heard but hurried up the stair way with the wolf slinking along at her heels.

Once she was gone, Legolas let out a shaky breath and glanced down at his side, concerned to see that the blood flow had not decreased. He leaned his head back on the icy wall behind him, wondering if he just naturally had bad luck or the Valar really held something against him. How many others would fall into a different world and run into a fallen Maiar? He gave a somewhat bitter smile at the irony before a sleep born of utter exhaustion claimed him.

o-0-o-0-o

**Translations: **

_fëa – _Spirit

_Suilaid – _Greetings

_Nan Eru's eneth, __gwanno ereb nin – _By Eru's name, leave me alone

(Q) _Valaraukar – _Balrogs

_Dôl lost lîn _– Your head is empty (insult)

**A/N: **I'm sorry this is kind of short. I've been terribly sick all week (still am) and haven't even done any school since Monday. :-( Anyway, thank you all for reading, and once again, I shall attempt to post in a week. I think all of you should know whom the '_he_'is Maugrim mentioned. ;-) Next week, we'll have a bit of Legolas and Ginarrbrik interchange which I'm looking forward to. Poor Ginarrbrik. The 'mysterious' or not so mysterious _he _will enter in the next chapter also.

Well, I bid you _navaer _and hope you will find it your hearts to review for me ;-)

Hugs Ila


	3. The Meeting of Worlds

**Disclaimer: **Uh… no. I don't Narnia or Lord of the Rings. (As if that wasn't obvious.) :-)

**Warnings: **None

**A/N: **I just want to wish a heartfelt thank you to all who reviewed. _**scarlet-reBELLE, szepilona10, Stuntz-The-Dude, Pip4, trecebo, ligerjager, Jimmy Candlestick, Peregrin Ionad, and MakruTree.**_ Also, thanks to anonymous reviewers _**JesusFreak**_ and _**Albet**_ for reviewing on chapter one.

_**JesusFreak: **_I really appreciate the blessing and encouragement! None of my stories will ever have slash in them.

_**Albet: **_Thanks for your critique of my writing! I'm glad you think it is well written. -smiles sheepishly- I have no one to proof-read my fanfics and so that means a lot to me.

_Hannon le,_ everyone, for the reviews! You all help make my worlds go round! ;-) I hope you enjoy this chapter in which three worlds meet. – Ila

**Chapter Three: The Meeting of Worlds**

The deep, thunderous clang of iron gates resonated through the icy prison and drew Legolas from his restless sleep. Allowing his eyes to focus, he shivered slightly at the coldness, and even the slight movement caused stabs of pain to leap up from his side. His head ached fiercely and felt light, giving him feeling of floating. He grimaced and checked his side, concerned to see that it still bled, though slower.

"How is your wound?" Tumnus asked, his voice soft. "When you stayed so long without blinking or moving, I feared the worst."

Legolas send him a small smile. "I was just sleeping. Do not worry yourself on my account." Carefully, he shifted position and drew his knees half way up to his chest. "I shall be fine," he added quietly, flushing slightly when he realized it sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

Discomfited, he adverted his gaze from the faun and let it wander around the cell, tentatively attempting to free his wrists once more. He gave up after a few moments, for all feeling had left his fingers, and his efforts were clumsy and the bonds immovable. Frustrated, he shifted his gaze down to glower at the floor. He felt caged in this cold and lonely place, cut off from his people and all life. From memory, the voices of the trees, the songs of the birds, and the light of the stars beckoned and called to him, pleading with him to come to them. But he could not, for this place, dead and devoid of all life, held him with its cruel chains and mocked his feeble attempts at freedom. The song of all living things still called to him, however, hanging just out of reach and tearing at his heart with its bitter sweetness. He clenched his eyes shut and moaned softly, jerking at his bonds in a vain but reflexive attempt to cover his ears.

Footsteps on the stairs rescued Legolas from his moment of despair, and he tensed, his eyes flying open to study the gates leading into the cell. Footsteps plodded down the steps and two forms appeared, and one pushed open the gates. One was clearly a young human boy, though his clothing was exceedingly strange, and the other was a…dwarf? He eyed the latter with distaste, as the dwarf pushed the boy down to the floor and began to chain his ankles to the ice floor.

"Leave the chains off the boy, dwarf," Legolas said, making no effort to hide the hostility in his voice. "There is no need for them unless you think a mere boy can escape this prison of yours alone and unaided."

The dwarf paused his work to glare at him. "Be quiet, fool."

"I take no orders from you, stunted one," Legolas returned, smirking at the creature. Of all the creatures on Narnia, he had not expected to find that dwarves were one of their number. "Just let the poor boy be."

"It's the queen's orders," the dwarf growled, "and if you don't shut it, I'll carve the words into your pretty face with my dagger."

"Threatened by a _naugrim_," Legolas replied with forced merriness. "My father would be amused."

With a snarl, the dwarf stepped toward him, but Legolas shook his head. "No, no, no. You cannot touch me. I'm the witch's current pastime, it seems, as she is quite determined to find a way into my world. If you so much as lift a finger a me, I am certain she will turn you into a short, stone statue."

The dwarf paled slightly at that and spun around, intently finishing the boy's chains. The boy sat passively on the ground, his face perfectly miserable and downcast, as he listlessly watched the dwarf shut away his freedom. His skin was pale under his locks of dark hair and his cheeks were streaked with tears. Legolas surmised that he could not be above twelve years of age and wondered where he had come from. He wore a thick shirt but no coat with short trousers, tall socks, and laced shoes. He shivered in the frigid temperatures, and as soon as the dwarf finished the chains, he drew his knees up to his chest and laid his head on them, wrapping his arms around his legs.

Throwing one last dirty look at Legolas, the dwarf stumped out of the cell and up the stairs, grumbling something about food and water.

Legolas turned his attention to the boy, wondering at his lack of interest in his surroundings or his fellow prisoners. He felt a sudden rush of fresh anger at the witch for imprisoning a mere child on a whim. "What is your name, young man?" he asked gently.

The boy's head jerked up, and his brown eyes widened as he focused on the one who had addressed him. "My-my name is Edmund," he stuttered. "Who are you, sir?"

Legolas smiled wanly and nodded a greeting. "I am Legolas, and I'm an elf before you ask if I am human."

Edmund stared at him in clear shock. "An elf? But they're just fairy tales and legends. And I thought they were short." He blushed at his quick words and muttered an apology.

Legolas laughed, the sound cheering though it was slightly forced. "I believe that often many legends begin with a grain of truth, but through the years that small truth is distorted and changed. It sounds as if the only thing left correct in those tales you heard is the name." He grinned as he thought on the Edmund's words. "I can think of many elves who would be eternally horrified to hear that in some places they are thought of as short."

The boy tried to smile, but it was only a slight twitching of his lips that did not reach to his dark and moody eyes. He seemed to be in no mind to talk but studied his companion discreetly, evidently curious.

"Where are you from?" Legolas asked, trying to draw him out. "I am from Middle–Earth, a whole different world from what I am discovering, but you do not look like a Narnian or one of the men from my world."

Edmund shrugged. "I'm from Earth. I'm guessing it's a different planet as well or something like that. I'm not sure of anything right now."

"Neither am I," Legolas murmured softly, a thought of home flying through his mind, "neither am I." He jerked himself out of the dark musing he had begun to slid into and focused back on the boy. "How did the witch get you?"

Edmund's lips compressed, and he turned his face away. "My siblings and I… it's a long story, and I don't feel like talking about it. She just tricked me." There was no anger in his voice, just defeat and betrayal.

Legolas let the subject be, and the cell fell into silence. He turned the boy's words over and around in his mind, feel incredulous at his words. _Three _different worlds? Was there even more, and what were they like? He shook his head and quashed his curiosity, telling himself he didn't want to know, he just wanted to get home before his father grew worried, if he wasn't frantic already.

Footsteps clomped down the stairs, and the dwarf reappeared carrying a plate of something that slightly resembled old bread and a cup of water. Setting them beside Edmund, he threw the elf another malicious look before leaving quickly and stomping back up the steps.

Legolas smirked at him but said nothing, feeling slightly guilty about having taunted the dwarf earlier. Most dwarves he had met near Lake Town and Dale had been ill-mannered, dirty, gruff, arrogant, and smug, but he knew that not all dwarves were like that, and he should not judge a people by the words and actions of a few.

For a short while, Edmund ignored the food set before him and continued to hide his face in his arms. Legolas' gaze lingered on the water before he forced himself to glance away. Inwardly, however, he wondered how long it had been since he had drunken anything. Two day? Three? He lost track of time in this dismal place.

The sound of coughing pulled him back to the present, and he saw Edmund had tried the bread. Choking on the dry, hard mouthful, the boy reached for the water only to drop it with disgust as it was frozen solid. Dejectedly, he returned to his former position, but a soft voice interrupted him.

"If – if you're not going to eat that…"

Edmund glanced over at the faun, his eyes uncertain and rather frightened. However, he seemed to shove aside his alarm and picked up the bread. On his long chain, he pushed himself around Legolas and over the broken bars dividing his cell from the faun's.

Tumnus drug himself over to meet him. "I'd get up," he said, his tone apologetic, "but my legs." Reaching over, he took the bread from the boy and began to eat it hungrily as he huddled up against the wall.

Edmund's gaze traveled over the creature, his shock turning to inexplicable shame and embarrassment. "Mr. Tumnus," he stated hesitantly, puzzling Legolas with his recognition of the faun.

"What's left of him," Tumnus replied dryly. He glanced up at Edmund and studied him carefully, to the boy's obvious discomfort. "You're Lucy Pevensie's brother."

"I'm Edmund," the boy replied, unwilling to meet the others gaze.

"Yes. Yes, you have the same nose," the faun replied, touching his own thoughtfully.

Edmund refused to answer or look at him, but stared despondently at the icy floor below him with unseeing eyes, sniffling slightly.

Tumnus continued to study the boy intently. "Is your sister alright?" he asked, his voice trembling slightly. "Is she safe?"

There was stark fear in Edmund's eyes, and he opened his mouth to reply, but at that moment, there was harsh barking and growling from above them. Almost reluctantly, he glanced over at Tumnus, still refusing to look the other in the eye. "I don't know."

Before Legolas could ask the questions that were on his lips, the sound of keys resounded in the space and a door unlocked and swung open with a clang. Edmund and Tumnus shot the stairway twin glances of terror before scooting in the opposite directions, clearly unwilling to let anyone know they had been speaking.

Light footsteps signaled the witch's decent down the stairs, and Legolas groaned inwardly. "Can she not leave us alone for a single hour?" he muttered. He wondered if he could still resist her, weakened as he was from loss of blood. He could only hope that his mind was as strong as before.

The witch flung open the cell doors, clearly in a foul mood and stormed over to tower above Edmund, the dwarf following her closely, a long shafted axe clasped in hand. "My police tore that dam apart," she bit out, pronouncing each word with venom. "Your little family are nowhere to be found."

Edmund cowered back from her, confusion, dread, and sudden hope in his eyes.

The witch reached down and hauled him eyelevel by his collar, holding him there as if he were naught but a butterfly. "Where did they go?" she hissed.

"I-I don't know," he stammered, panic welling up in his voice.

The witch's lips twisted into a sneer of contempt and anger. "Then," she said with icy decision, "you're of no further use to me." She flung him to the floor and lifted her wand high.

Legolas winced and fought desperately to free himself, not able to watch helplessly as that monster in disguise murdered the young boy. However, his struggles came to nothing, only causing his wound to start bleeding afresh.

"Wait!" Edmund's frantic cry stayed the witch's hand, and she lowered her wand, her face switching between annoyance and anticipation. "The beaver said something about Aslan!"

For a moment, the cell was completely silent as the occupants stared at the boy. Legolas watched the witch warily, wondering what her reaction would be to the Lion's name. A series of different emotions were sailing across her face, and she finally settled on disbelief.

"Aslan? Where?" she demanded, her voice tinged with furious anxiety.

The silence hung heavy as Edmund struggled with whether to withhold or confess the information. "I–"

"He's a stranger here, your majesty," Tumnus blurted out, clearly attempting to divert the witch's attention away from the boy. "He can't be expected to know anything."

The witch barely spared the Tumnus a glance, and Legolas winced in sympathy as the dwarf callously slammed the shaft of his axe into the side of the faun's head. Tumnus recoiled with a soft cry and said nothing more.

The witch turned her attention back to Edmund, her eyes flashing dangerously as she began to loose patience with the human. "I said," she repeated, pronouncing each word with exaggerated care, "where is Aslan?"

Edmund, his eyes wide with terror and face twisted with indecision, glanced over at Tumnus as the faun shot him a pleading glance, silently begging him not to tell. "I-I don't know," the boy finally replied, his voice shaking as he clearly braced for the witch's next outburst. "I left before they said anything." He pushed himself up straighter, his eyes suddenly earnest and hopeful. "I wanted to see you!"

Legolas shot a confused look at the boy, uncertain what he implied by that statement. Surely, Edmund had not come to the witch on his own free will. He guessed, however, that she had worked some spell on him, charming him to do as she asked him until it was too late for him to turn back.

The witch regarded her young prisoner with a slight sneer before turning to the stairs and calling for a guard.

A short, hideous, one-eyed creature stumped into the room in a way that made a dwarf look graceful. He was dressed in coarse leathers but wore no armor or weapons. "Your majesty," it grunted. Edmund shuddered and shrank back even further from the witch.

"Release the faun," she ordered imperiously, and the ogre growled a gruff response before making his way into Tumnus' cell, a hammer abruptly in his large, rough hands. It proceeded to brutally pound out the iron pegs enclosing the faun's chains, and Legolas clenched his jaw to hold in his rage as Tumnus cried out in pain. Edmund cringed at each cry almost as if he himself were the one being struck.

The witch held up a thin white arm, and the ogre drug the faun over the her and threw him at her feet, where he landed with a groan.

"Do you know why you're here, _faun_?" the witch spat out the last word as if it disgusted her. She looked down at him with a condescending leer.

Tumnus shoved himself up on one arm and gazed up at her with rebellion and scorn shining from his grey eyes. "Because I believe," he said, his voice trembling slightly but strengthening as he continued, "in a free Narnia."

The witch's lips twitched in what seemed like the ghost of a smirk of contempt. "You're here," she replied, making no attempt to hide her glee, "because _he_," she pointed her wand at Edmund who flinched back away from it, "turned you in. For sweeties."

Incredulity flooded Tumnus' face and he glanced from the witch over to Edmund, desperately hoping for the boy to deny the charge. Instead, Edmund's face became a picture of immeasurable guilt, and he lowered his eyes from the faun's, his chest heaving with the emotion he stowed up inside.

"Take him upstairs," the witch said, clearly enjoying the look of utter betrayal on the faun's face as the ogre drug him out of the cell and up the steps. "And ready my sleigh and a horse." She let her gaze wander back over to Edmund, her face abruptly hard once more. "Edmund misses his family." She turned from the distraught boy to face Legolas. "Are you ready to speak with me now, elf?"

"I have nothing to say to you, _lyg,_" Legolas said, keeping his voice perfectly expressions as he allowed his eyes to blaze. "I know not the answer to your question, anyway, for even an elf cannot see while unconscious. I repeat: I know not where or how I entered this world, and _you_ turned the only ones who knew where I entered into stone."

The witch raised her eye brows as if surprised at his answer and smiled derisively. "You _will_ change your mind, elf. Trust me on this."

Legolas eyed her appraisingly. "Well, I for one, would not trust you as far as I could throw you, as the men say. Which," he added as a prick, "is not far."

Her smile morphed with surprising speed into a scowl, and she turned and exited the cell with the dwarf, the gates swinging shut with a heartless clang behind her.

Legolas glanced back at Edmund who had drawn his knees up to his chest and hid his face in his arms once more. He felt a fresh stab of pity for the young boy and attempted to bring him out of his stew of misery.

"I do not fully understand the situation surrounding you, your siblings, or Tumnus, but I am sure you are not fully to blame," he began cautiously. "I am sure that the witch is a master at deception, and you are not the only one who has, at one time, fallen under her sway. Do not lose heart, for I am certain we can find someway out of this mess."

Edmund glanced up at him, his eyes full and cheeks streaked with tears. "What does it matter?" he asked, his voice dull with despair. "I don't even know if Peter, Susan, and Lucy are still alive or even still _in _Narnia. Perhaps they went home and left me here. I know I deserve it – I've been such a dunce! – but I never wanted them to get hurt. I just wanted to…" he trailed off, flushing with shame. "Well, humiliate them, I guess. Especially Peter. He's been acting so lordly lately and seems to think everything I do is wrong, improper, or childish."

Legolas could not help but smile compassionately. "I once went through the same thing as you, and I can identify with what you are trying to say. Older siblings, especially brothers, can be extremely overbearing at times. However, you should try to understand that no matter how domineering they can be, they usually only have your best interests in mind."

Edmund sighed. "Yes, I know. It's just so hard sometimes. Sometimes it seems that since my dad left – he's fighting in a war – Peter seems to be trying to take his place, and I don't like it."

"Where I am from, it is the duty of the eldest son to take over the father's duties when he is absent," Legolas said. "Is it the same for you? It was hard for me to accept the first few times my older brother did the duties of my father, but I grew used to it."

Edmund shrugged. "It's kind of the same, I suppose. It doesn't make it any easier, though." He fidgeted in silence for a moment before hesitantly broaching a new subject. "What is it, exactly, that makes elves different than humans?"

Legolas pondered the question for a moment, but before he could reply, the jangling of keys intruded into the silence, and he sighed. "There are many yet few differences, but we shall have to save this conversation for later. I think we, or at least you, are going somewhere."

Two ogres, the wolf Maugrim, and the dwarf entered the cell, and Maugrim growled softly as he padded over to Legolas' side. "The smell of fresh blood is very appetizing, elf," he said with a feral grin, sniffing the viscous pool of blood which had collected on the floor.

"I have heard that before," Legolas replied coolly, thinking of the numerous taunts that orcs enjoyed shouting before a battle, "and it has always failed to impress me."

"Her majesty instructed us to get the prisoners, not to speak with them, Maugrim," the dwarf said irritably as he began to work at Edmund's chains. "You would do well to let the pompous creature alone."

"Where is your sense of fun, Ginarrbrik?" the wolf replied with a leer. He stepped away from the elf, and the ogres walked forward and began to work the pins out of the Legolas' manacles. "You're always such a wet blanket."

"Perhaps, I just like myself in flesh instead of stone," Ginarrbrik retorted. "You should be the one worried about your health after letting those humans escape you."

Maugrim bristled and snarled a curse. "It was that blasted fox, I tell you. Woe to that traitor if I meet it again."

Legolas grimaced as the ogres forcibly removed the pins, causing the iron to dig deeply into his already chafed wrists. The pins gave way, and his hands fell down to his sides, his muscles burning and aching from their long inactivity. Before he could even think of standing or moving, the ogres grabbed his wrists and bound them tightly in front of him with a meter long cord before dragging him to his feet and blindfolding him. He staggered and barely managed to keep his balance as sharp flares of pain from his side caused a moan of pain to escape him.

Without waiting for the dwarf to finish with Edmund, the orc-like creatures pushed him toward the stairs. He stumbled over the first few steps before he learned their distance and made it up the rest without mishap. It was oddly disconcerting not being able to see where he was going, and he attempted to remain as light on his feet as possible, for the ogres continued to turn corners sharply and without any warning. His side pained him greatly, and he could feel the warm trickle of blood running down his side and soaking his blood-crusted tunic once more, but he attempted to ignore the anguish to the best of his ability.

After a few minutes of being jerked around in the dark, he heard the sound of two large gates opening, and he was propelled into what seemed like a large courtyard from the sound of their footsteps.

"Ah, elf, here you are," he heard the witch say, a smile clearly on her lips. "I hope you shall enjoy your ride today, though I'm afraid it will aggravate your wound. Put him on the horse."

The ogres shoved him forward and hoisted him up on the horse, which he mounted with difficulty. They tied his hand securely to the saddle before leaving him alone.

"Do not try to run off, elf," the witch told him, her voice coming from a few feet ahead of him. "Your horse is tied to the back of my sleigh and her strength is no match for my reindeer." There was the sound of rustling skirts as the witch shifted position. "As for you, horse, if you should attempt to escape with or without your rider, my wolves will take you down, and I will let them do with you as they see fit. I hope I make myself clear."

For a moment, Legolas was puzzled that she spoke to a horse, but his puzzlement was turned into astonishment when the horse tossed its head and snorted, saying sarcastically in the voice pitch of a female, "You've made yourself perfectly clear, witch."

So, the horses talked also. Evidently, this was a world where throwing stones at a squirrel would result in the animal lecturing you on your manners. He could not help smile at the mental picture that though brought to him, and he leaned forward as far as his bonds would allow.

"What is your name?" he whispered softly in the creature's ear.

The horse relaxed under him, and he felt her twist her neck around to look at him. "Leidara," she answered quietly. "Be still; it is not safe to speak more now."

At that moment, the gates opened once more, and he heard the sounds of two sets of footsteps. Abruptly, they stopped, only to begin once more at the witch's words.

"When you're ready, son of Adam."

Shortly after that, the dwarf yelled something, and a whip cracked through the air. Leidara tensed and broke into a canter. Legolas sat confidently on her back despite his bound hands and blindfold, absorbing her movements easily. His wound flashed with agony at each step, but he forced himself to disregard it and focus on keeping his balance. Leidara relaxed once more as a few moments passed without any catastrophe.

"Thank Aslan, you can ride," she said, relieved. "I was afraid I would have to work to keep you on my back as well as keep my own feet."

"You have a graceful and flowing carriage," Legolas replied, feeling the cold air steal his breath and throw his words back at him. "Do not worry about me, just watch your own footing, for the ground feels treacherous and the snow deep."

"Aye," she answered and said no more, putting her energies into her pace.

Legolas could not help but shiver as the icy wind washed over him, feeling especially susceptible to the coolness as his loss of blood and dehydration began to wreak havoc on his body. The bells on the reindeers' harnesses jingled with their movement, but he felt as if even that sound of merriment in the presence of the witch was hollow and out of place. It grated on his nerves, and he shut it out, unable to suppress a soft moan of frustration and pain.

_Ai, Eru,_ he thought wryly. _I could use some help right now. A patrol of elves would be nice, but Mithrandir would be better, I think. Of course, a Vala or two would work as well…_ Shaking his head at the preposterous thoughts, he wearily lowered his head from the biting wind and let his mind wander into the world of elven dreams.

o-0-o-0-o

**Translations: **

_naugrim – _a insulting name for the dwarves; means _stunted one._

_lyg – _snake

_Ai - _Ah

**A/N: **Well, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. It had quite a bit of movie verse in it, but I didn't see how to escape that, so I had to put it in. Thank you for reading, and I'd love for you to leave a review to brighten my day. I'm _still_ sick with influenza and bronchitis, but I'm too tired to go into a long monologue about how unfair it is. :-( See you all in a week!

_Hannon le a navaer – _Ila


	4. Unpleasant Revelations

**Disclaimer: **Nope, I'm not the lucky gal. I **do** own Leidara and Daevanna, though.

**Warnings: **Uh… none?

**A/N: **Thanks to again to everyone who reviewed! _**szepilona10, Pip4, trecebo, Jimmy Candlestick, Ne'ith5, Peregrin Ionad, MakruTree**_ (who is also currently writing a wonderful LOTRs/Narnia x-over!), _**nagisha-chan, DanaeMariSkywalker, **_and_** FireSenshi2**_.

I love you guys! _Hannon le _from all my heart! I hope you all had a wonderful Valentine's Day! Ila

**Chapter Four: Unpleasant Revelations**

Legolas hunched forward in the saddle as Leidara slowed her pace at last, his breath coming in pain-racked gasps as he fought against the warm, welcoming hole of darkness which beckoned to him. His wrists were bloodied from the friction of the ropes, and his brown tunic was soaked with the life fluid. His anguished mind wandered strange paths, unable to focus on a thought or sense.

As the ride had progressed, the pain of his wound and loss of blood had steadily worn him down until even sleep was unreachable. He had fervently wished for blessed unconscious yet also resisted it, for neither his pride nor his body could take a fall off a horse. Still, he had lost his balance twice, and only Leidara's quick footing had saved him from being dragged. He had felt them stop only once, but only briefly, and his mind had been too muddled to comprehend what was happening. He had heard Edmund cry out, however, and had raged in silent anger at his helplessness before falling into a delirious state once more.

So time had passed, but now, they stopped once more. He struggled to listen, attempted to discover what was happening, but his blood pounded in his ears, his head throbbed, and he felt as if the world was spinning around him. He slumped forward until his forehead rested against Leidara's neck and clung to her long mane with his fingers, waiting for the dizziness to pass.

He heard her nicker softly and felt her neck curve as she glanced back at him. "Take courage," she said softly. "We are stopping here, and you will be able to rest."

He nodded minutely in acknowledgement, too weary to speak. _Rest_… the word sounded foreign and unobtainable. All he wished now was to fall into the dark cavern waiting at the edges of his mind and forever hide there from the pain. However, even this simple wish was denied to him.

Strong, rough hands severed the ropes binding his wrists and pulled him off Leidara's back. His legs refused to function, and he sagged in the cruel grip, unable to even lift his head. A hand grabbed his hair and jerked his head back before placing what seemed like a water skin to his lips. He was extremely thirsty but bristled at the treatment and clenched his jaw shut and turned his face away. One of the figures growled out something that Legolas did not truly want to understand and grasped his face, forcing him to drink the liquid. On his tongue, the drink was sweet, but it burned down his throat like the ale Elladan had once poured in the his wine glass when he wasn't looking…

He gasped and attempted to spit it out, but those above him shoved a gag in his mouth, removing it only when he had swallowed. For a moment, he wondered if they had forced him to drink only to mock his helplessness, when a sudden streak of heat shot through his body, snapping him back to reality. His eyes focused to see the blackness of his blindfold, and he fought against the panic and disorientation which assailed him.

The being on his right grabbed him and shoved him down to sit against something hard and rough. A rope was wrapped tightly about his torso, pinning his arms to his sides and pressing him back against the object behind him. The pressure drove the air from his lungs, and the ropes rubbed against his wound through his torn tunic. For a few moments, he struggled weakly against the bonds, but a familiar voice stopped him.

"Lay quiet and rest, for your bonds are tight, and you will not loosen them with useless thrashing."

"Leidara?" he murmured hating afresh the blindfold over his eyes. "Are you alright?"

She snorted. "The question that should be asked is are _you _alright, but I suppose that is already obvious in a rather negative sense. Yes, I am fine, though they have tied me like a dumb beast to a tree and hobbled me." He heard her swish her tail irritably. "Did you enjoy your first taste of Narnian liquor?" she asked, clearly trying to divert his mind from his current position.

"So that is what that vile concoction was," Legolas replied, with a small smile, appreciating her attempt. "Undeniably a shock to the senses. It was so foully sweet." He grimaced. "It is not something I relish drinking again."

Leidara laughed softly. "It certainly has lent you energy, and that is what you need."

For a minute, there was silence as Legolas listened intently to the bustle of sound around them. He comprehended suddenly that the air was warmer than before, and there was the smell of spring in the air. A presence behind him stirred, and he realized that he was tied back against a tree. He waited with bated breath for it to stir once more, but it did not, though a faint hint of malice now tinged the air. He sighed with disappointment and frustration, for after such a long confinement, he was desperate to touch life once more. With effort, he turned his mind from the tree and set it back on Leidara.

"Can you tell me what is happening?" he asked. "Why is it warmer?" A sudden thought struck him. "Where is Edmund?"

"Do not worry about the young boy," Leidara said rather dryly. "They tied him to a tree in the middle of a clearing before us. He's not going anywhere, and they are mostly ignoring him. As for the weather, it is very queer, though quite exciting." Her voice dropped to an animated whisper. "The snow has been melting steadily throughout the day, and it is now almost completely gone. Things are growing and becoming green and alive. It's almost like the spring in the stories of Narnia's past that I heard when I was a filly. I never thought I'd ever see it. It seems that the witch's power is failing, and she's been none to happy."

Approaching footsteps put an end to their conversation, and a moment later, the blindfold was ripped from the Legolas' face, and he found himself squinting up at an irate Maiar.

"Tell me, elf," she said stiffly, "did you have something to do with _this_?" She waved her wand around the dirty clearing.

Legolas eyed his surroundings as his eyes adjusted, attempting to understand what she was trying to say. They were in a forest of tall, gloomy trees under a cloud covered sky, and countless strange and distorted creatures bustled around setting up was seemed to be an encampment. Edmund sat tied against a tree a short distance away, his face bruised, and he was tightly gagged. The boy's fearful and haunted eyes watched the witch's every movement and seemed not even to notice the elf.

Leidara stood a few feet off, and their eyes met for the first time. Her fiery, rebellious brown eyes softened, and he was struck by her beauty. Her coat was seemed to be a mirror of _Anor_, dirty and bloodied though it was, and her mane and tail were a radiant white which put sunlit snow to shame. Her long forelock was parted to reveal a small white star on her forehead which almost seemed to glow in the dim light. He had never seen a horse so beautiful, not in any of the elven realms or even the herds of the Rohirrim. He drew strength from her gaze, and it was with effort that he set his attention back on the witch.

Still uncertain of what the witch meant by her question, he sent her a blank stare. "What have I to do with what?"

"Do not play coy," she spat. "Have you placed a counter-spell on my degree for a constant winter?"

Legolas smirked slightly at the idea. "If you are hoping that I, not Aslan, am breaking your power, I am sorry to disappoint you. Even the most powerful elf cannot change the weather. Only a Vala and Eru himself has that power."

She glared at him for a long moment, her sharp eyes studying him with disturbing intensity. "What is your name?" she asked abruptly.

"My name is my own," Legolas replied, keeping his voice expressionless as he met her gaze evenly.

She tilted her head, and a low laugh escaped her. "But it isalso _mine_." She glanced down at the dwarf who had suddenly appeared at her side. "Kill the boy."

"What?!" Legolas jerked at his bonds in a vain attempt to jump forward, his eyes blazing with fury and confusion. "Leave him alone! He has nothing to do with this."

The witch looked back at him, her eyes glittering with cruel enjoyment. "It was always said that elves were chivalrous. Should we test the truth of that statement?"

"You are bluffing," Legolas retorted, twisting slightly at the ropes once more. Edmund was staring at him with a pleading look in his dark eyes, his young face terrified. "If you wanted to kill him, you would have done so already."

"I haven't killed him because there wasn't the need," the witch corrected. "In truth, killing him will aid me drastically in this battle against the _Lion_." She sent him a brittle smile. "What is your name?"

"Legolas," he grated.

"Which means green leaf, correct?" she pondered, seeming rather amused at his surprise. "I have not forgotten all my Sindarin, stubborn one. I gather from your name that you are either Sindar or Silven?"

"Silven."

"Who is your father?"

He set his jaw and glared at her, relenting only when the dwarf took another step toward Edmund. "Thranduil."

"Thranduil…" she mused. "That name is not familiar to me. For some reason, I seem to know your face, though I cannot place it. What of your grandfather?"

He scrambled for a quick lie, uncertain if she would know of Oropher. "Eilnis." Now he just had to hope there was no one he had forgotten about in history who had that name.

She thought on the name for awhile but did not recognize it and seemed to swiftly lose interest in his family. "You mentioned before that Morgoth is dead and Sauron broken. Tell me what has happened."

Only after repeated threats on Edmund's welfare did he give way and sullenly tell her the tale. She seemed grieved at Morgoth's death and was fascinated by the rings of power which Sauron had created. She was almost exuberant over the tale of Sauron's downfall on the slopes of Mount Doom.

"He was a rival, and he convinced Morgoth to send me through the gates in an effort to get rid of me," she said. "Though it worked, I am sure he bitterly rued his aloneness during times when my power could have added him."

Legolas was careful to gloss over the affairs of the men and made no mention of the Dunedain or the failing of Gondor. He made sure to stress the fact that the three elven rings were lost and said nothing on the dealings of the elven realms. She showed more interest in the business of the enemy and questioned him eagerly on the doings of the ringwraiths, about which Legolas admitted knowing little.

After a time, she grew tired of his monosyllabic answers and turned her attention back to the question of how he had entered Narnia. "I find it hard to believe that you do not know how you entered," she said. "I was conscious throughout my journey through the gates and understood what was happening."

"Then why do you not return that way?" Legolas replied wearily. The affects of the drink they had given him was wearing off, and exhaustion and pain began to assault his mind once more.

"Because a Power other than Morgoth's discovered that I had been sent and closed the gates of the worlds to prevent me from returning and others from following," she replied impatiently. "Also, I did not come to this world first but another. I came here later quite by accident."

"An unfortunate accident," Leidara mumbled, but the witch ignored her and continued.

"Tell me what happened lest I kill the boy and drown you in his blood. You are a warrior and I am certain that you do not wish to see him die."

Legolas shot her a scathing glare. "I cannot tell you what I do not know! I do not know if I came by these gates you speak of or some other unknown way. I swear by the Valar that I speak the truth."

"I do not trust your oaths," the witch replied flatly.

"I swear by Eru himself," Legolas returned almost desperately. "Even an orc would understand that I would not give such a promise lightly."

For a long, doubtful moment, she studied him. "If you truly do not know," she said at last, "there is no reason for me to keep you alive. Unless, of course, you would swear allegiance to me."

Legolas cocked an eyebrow. "Life will come to an end and the stars and _Ithil _be darkened before I swear allegiance to one of evil. Perhaps there is no reason to keep me alive or maybe there is. That is for you to decide. You are not wholly evil, just misguided and lost. There is hope and goodness in the hearts of all, even if it is buried under layers of hate and bitterness."

The witch froze, staring at him with wide, angry eyes. "Who told you that?" she hissed. "Those last two sentences are not your own."

Legolas shifted uneasily, wanting to remain silence but fearing for Edmund's safety. "Those words were told to me by my father, though it was my grandfather who first spoke them. But what does it matter to you?"

Every drop of emotion vanished from the witch's face, and she became as one of her stone statues, stiff and unmoving. Her eyes were dark and frighteningly empty. Abruptly, she turned and stalked away. "Bring him."

Startled by her reaction, Legolas allowed the dwarf to slice the ropes binding him in two. He did not even entertain thoughts of struggling or escape, for he knew that he was much too weak, and he feared what repercussions the witch would make on Edmund. Two large, yak-like creatures that stood like men pulled him to his feet and bound his wrists tightly before jerking him in the direction the witch had gone.

He gritted his teeth and tried to walk, but his legs refused to function. His head swam from the rapidly changing movement, and he shoved down the nauseous feeling which rose in his stomach, concentrating instead on remaining upright. He resented his body's weakness but quit his clumsy attempts to walk. As much as he hated being dragged, the least he could do was make his antagonists do all the work despite the protests of his wounded pride.

_Curse that smirking dwarf… _

The two creatures continued on for some distance, and Legolas grew uneasy as the encampment showed no signs of ending. He realized with a sudden pang of fear, that this was the beginnings of an army of evil whose purpose was to wipe all good from the world. He could only hope that Aslan would be prepared for the storm gathering on the horizon.

The yak-creatures halted, and Legolas snapped back to the present. They stood before a wooden bower in which the witch sat rather tensely, her eyes meeting his and holding his gaze. For an almost unbearably long moment, she said nothing, but at last, she rose and stepped toward him, a malicious delight darkening her green eyes.

"You share the likeness of your grandfather," she said finally, her voice deceptively quiet. "I met Oropher once, quite by accident, before my exile. We fought, and he won yet spared my life. He spoke those same words to me, and I swore revenge for his mercy." She reached out and traced her fingernail down his cheek, a cruel smile twisting her lips as he flinched away from the touch. "He seems to have been productive, for he was young and unmarried when we fought. Now he has a grandson."

"My grandfather is dead," Legolas replied tightly, cursing the streak of pity which had brought this upon him. "He was killed during the battle to defeat Sauron. You have failed to obtain the revenge you seek."

She laughed, the musical sound rendered harsh by hatred. "I may not have him, but I believe you will do just fine, for his blood runs through your veins." She picked up a gilded dagger from a table in the bower and unsheathed it, running her finger across the sharp blade.

Adrenaline gave a sudden rush of strength to Legolas, but he scorned to fight and merely straightened, coolly meeting her gaze. He wondered if he should be concerned or fearful of his impending death, but his mind seemed frozen, unthinking in wordless denial. This _could_ not be happening, this _was_ not happening, and he was dreaming. Yes, this whole thing was a nightmare. _A nightmare…_

A sudden snap jerked his numbed mind back into working mode, and he tensed automatically, only to realize that the witch had sheathed the dagger.

"Killing you now would be quite dull," she said with a strange smile. "Perhaps we shall do something more entertaining. Don't you agree, prince?"

"I believe it depends on how you classify 'entertainment,' Legolas answered warily, still yet unable to believe that he still lived.

That enigmatic smile grew, and she laughed softly, sitting down in the bower and reaching down underneath the table to bring out two elven knives. "It was skilled craftsmen who fashioned these handsome blades," she said, gently fingering the ivory hilts. "When I fought Oropher, he also carried two knives, though they were slightly longer. Perhaps, young prince, you will show me the newest styles of the elves, and we shall recreate the fight between your grandfather and I, though it shall end quite differently."

"I do not doubt its outcome," Legolas replied rather dryly. "As I am currently unable to stand on my own, I believe that a lesson in swordplay may be difficult for me to teach."

"We shall have to aid you then," the witch said, and gestured at his guards. "Unbind his hands and let him bandage his wound." She glanced at the dwarf. "Ginarrbrik, stay by the boy, and if the elf attempts to escape, slit his throat." The dwarf bowed and waddled off, shooting Legolas a positively venomous look, as if the elf was to blame for him being stuck on guard duty.

Legolas ignored him and sank to his knees once the ropes chafing his writs were removed, unable, despite his repeatedly slighted pride, to remain standing any longer. He pulled his arms slowly before him, his muscles protesting at the abrupt change in position. He wordlessly took the rough cloth handed him and carefully inspected the injury, wincing at what he saw.

Because of the extended period of time in which he had been unable to see to the wound, the blood had dried his tunic to the torn flesh, effectively creating a painful predicament. With slow, cautious movements, he began to peel the fabric away, biting his tongue until he tasted the metallic tang of blood. Still, a hiss of pain escaped him. As soon as the fabric was removed, he surveyed the wound. It was red and inflamed, but the bleeding had stopped, and it was not yet infected, something for which he was eternally grateful. He would have given several pounds of silver for a few leaves of _athelas_, but he knew that could not be, so he made do with the cloth he had been given. After wrapping the wound, he pulled his bloodied tunic down over the bandage and glanced back up at the witch, who had watched the whole ordeal with interest.

She flicked her hand vaguely, and the two yak-creatures stepped back over and pulled Legolas to his feet once more. She walked over to face him and, without warning, placed a hand on his forehead. Startled, he tried to jerk away, but it almost seemed as if her hand had fused to him. Without paying any heed to his panicked struggles, she closed her eyes and began to chant in a language of which he knew nothing.

A strange, unidentifiable feeling lanced through his mind, knocking aside all resistance and paralyzing him both mentally and physically. He stood stiffly under her touch, trembling but unmoving, eyes tightly shut as her mental probe slid deeper into his consciousness. It was warm yet cold, smooth yet rough, painful yet soothing. He shuddered, and she stopped the chant, withdrawing from his mind and removing her hand.

He blinked, and his eyes slowly refocused. He felt strangely light, and all pain from his side had vanished, gone as if it never existed. He shifted, feeling unusually stiff and awkward, and checked his side. The wound was still there, but he felt absolutely no pain or weakness from it. He glanced up at the witch, eyes narrowed with fear and suspicion. "What did you do to me?"

"It is a simple spell to give strength and remove pain," she replied. "It will not work indefinitely and will wear off in about an hour. I have not the wish nor the ability to completely heal you." She stood. "I shall be back in a moment." Turning she walked back further into the encampment, vanishing into the trees.

Legolas watched her go, a dark dread rising up within him. He was glad that he would meet his death in a fight instead of being slaughtered, but he knew that this fight would only have one outcome. Even in the remote chance that he would be the victor, he would still be killed. _Ai! _he thought with a wry smile. _Forget my earlier wishes, Eru, and give me Lord Glorfindel. I'm sure he would enjoy fighting this Valaraukar much more than the last. She's certainly more beautiful…_

He had always wondered if death would lay its claim on him, and he had occasionally fantasized about what his last words or thoughts would be. However, now that his death was approaching, he felt nothing. He did not fear death and, even though he would have preferred to live, could not help but imagine what the halls of Mandos would be like and whether or not he would be reunited with his mother. _Daevanna. _His mind sung her name. _Naneth._ It had been so many long, painful years since her death, years of sorrow and memory. He could feel the necklace against his skin under his tunic, the necklace she had given him with her dying breath, the necklace she had been killed for. She had made him promise that he would not fade and told him that the necklace would give him strength and courage to pull through his grief and find joy in life once again.

He found the joy she spoke of, after many trials and troubles, in the love of his father, siblings and people. He would not die on them now, he decided with determination, and set upon them fresh grief. He _would _survive this, by Eru's name, he would. If ever Mandos claimed him, it would be in the defense of his people, not in some foreign land at the whim of some witch who held some grudge against his grandfather.

The witch returned, drawing him out of his thoughts. She had changed from her ice blue gown into a sleeveless dress of soft brown, the torso and chest made of silver chain mail. She had let her long, golden hair down and pulled a few strands back into a braid to keep them out of her face. Two sheathed swords hung from her belt, their leather grips clearly well used.

The hideous creatures of her army began to gather around the two contestants, and the witch chose a ring of even ground. Once they were completely encircled by onlookers, the witch flicked her hand, and the two yak-creatures holding Legolas released his arms and stepped back into the crowd.

Legolas surveyed his surroundings with care, gently rubbing his sore wrists as he did so. There was no easy way to escape even without the witch to deal with. If he _did _manage to escape, he would never be able to take Edmund and Leidara with him, and he would not leave them. Casting aside the idea of escape as impossible for the moment, he watched silently as the witch lifted his knives and handed them to him.

He took them and gave them a cursory inspection. They were still perfectly sharp and clean with no marks or blemishes that he could see, pacifying his fears that they had been tampered with. He glanced up at the witch. "Before we fight," he said, "I would like to know your name."

A curious look passed over her face. "I was named Lythlali in your world," she replied, "but I have had many names since then. Now, I am called Jadis."

"You mean to fight with two broadswords?" Legolas asked skeptically. "It takes a great deal of strength and endurance to wield two such weapons at once. I fear my knives shall not stand up well to such weight."

"I have many centuries to hone my skills," Jadis replied, "though I have not had a true challenge for nearly as long. As for your weapons, Oropher defeated me with his knives, thus you shall fight me with yours."

Legolas nodded and slid into defensive stance, hating the strange stiffness that seemed to cling to his limbs. The witch drew her swords and flew at him, her movements swift and decisive. Legolas sprang away from one blade and deflected rather than blocked the other, noting that her moves were indeed powerful but at the same time reckless, leaving openings to be exploited. He feinted with one knife and struck out with the second, her chain mail saving her from a disabling cut to her side.

She pulled back with surprise, and he did not pursue, biding his time on defensive and conserving his strength. "You are extremely skilled, prince," she said as she circled him, a new level of respect and caution in her eyes. "What have you to say about me?"

"You have your own unique style," he answered, "but your moves are rash, old-fashioned, and predictable."

She smiled at his frankness. "I am beginning to like you, prince. Perhaps you will reconsider joining me, and together we shall discover how to return to Middle-earth."

"My last words on the subject still stand," Legolas replied, watching her with a guarded gaze. Even then, he was taken slightly off balance when she sprang at him a second time, for she moved with utter silence and feline grace. He blocked the first blow with the flat of his left knife and hastily threw up his right knife to block the second, backpedaling quickly.

He moved continuously, careful to keep out of close contact, for it was most difficult to block or deflect the powerful blows when so close. He danced out of reach of her every attack and let her wear herself down with her efforts.

She seemed to grow frustrated after a time, and picked up the fighting pace rather than slowed, her blows becoming even more coordinated and complicated rather than more sluggish. He realized with a weary certainty that he would certainly tire before she did, for he was wounded, while she was not; he was an elf, while she was a Maiar. His side began to ache as time dragged on, and her spell began to wear off.

He stumbled and was awarded by a sharp, deep cut across his left forearm. He dropped the knife with a soft cry and recoiled back from her. She did not let him recover but pressed him, driving him backward with swift, hard strokes, which knocked his other knife from his hand in the space of a few seconds.

The knife flew through the air and landed a few meters away, unreachable. He turned back to face Jadis, who stalked toward him with bloodlust and victory in her eyes. With a coolness that surprised even himself, he met her gaze and awaited the killing blow with defiance blazing in his eyes.

o-0-o-0-o

**Translations: **

_Anor – _the sun

_Eilnis – _means 'blue dawn'

_Ithil – _the moon

_athelas – _an herb

_(Q) Valaraukar – _Balrog

_Daevanna – _means 'white forest'

_Naneth – _mother

_Lythlali – _means 'the blade shadow' or 'the shadow blade'

**A/N: **Thank you all for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Sorry for the cliffy. I couldn't resist. ;-) As a quick note, the bit I had about Legolas' mother is a story I have stewing around in my mind at the moment. However, I have my hands quite full of the two stories I am working on right now and will not start working on it until I finish _The Blades of Eru _and _Fateful Knowledge. _It promises to be different from any of the tragic fics I've read about Legolas' mother. Perhaps it will show the darker side of Legolas. :-) Anyway, please leave me a review, and I will try once more to post the next chapter in a week!

_Galu an le! _Ila


	5. Rescue

**A/N: **Thanks to _**StrangerToTheWorld, jambaby, Starset, Kimsa Ki-Lurria, Jimmy Candlestick, MakruTree, White Atropos, Pip4, trecebo, **_and _**Peregrin Ionad**_ for reviewing.–dances a ditty– You guys are tremendous!

Sorry this is so short, but life has not been very _nice _to me lately. I truly wasn't sure if I'd get this posted on time. –sheepish grin– I hope you all enjoy this chapter! Ila

**Chapter Five: Rescue**

In one, smooth movement, Jadis crossed both swords and placed them against his neck. Legolas stood as if frozen, staring at her with eyes carved of cerulean stone, naught but a slight wince flitting its swiftly vanishing path across his face. She pressed the swords deeper, drawing blood, but still he did not move, his hard gaze unwavering. For a long moment, there was complete silence, even the noise of the spectators hushed.

Then, the witch laughed, the unexpected sound startling both elf and onlookers alike. "Brave you are, prince," she said with a smile, "and I cannot find it in my heart to kill you. You fought well, though under a grievous disadvantage, and you honor your grandfather's memory. You will die, never fear, just not now."

Legolas kept his face expressionless, though his joy was great. She was arrogant indeed, if she thought she could keep him here much longer. Soon, very soon, he would make his escape, and she would also lose the boy. Leidara could carry them both easily - he did not doubt that, for he knew her lithe frame held great endurance and speed.

Hands grasped his arms, pulled them back to bind them, and he could not suppress a grimace of pain as his wounded arm was roughly handled. He knew that the injury was not serious in itself, for the bone had not been broken or chipped, but dreaded the thought of what losing more blood would do to his already weakened body.

He was pushed back to his tree, and the two yak-creatures bound him to the trunk once more, leaving him alone under Leidara's intense gaze. As soon as the creatures left, she turned to him, eyes concerned.

"What did she do to you?" she demanded softly. "You look terrible."

"I am fine," Legolas replied, with a small sigh. "Do not worry yourself about me. I have just received a few scratches."

"The cuts on your neck are _not _scratches," Leidara retorted dryly, "and the one on your arm looks quite bad."

"I suppose," he admitted, glancing down at his arm. "It is just a flesh wound, however, and will do little more than bleed."

"It's a miracle that you have any blood left within you," she returned. "After we arrived here, they unsaddled me, and the saddle was completely soaked with blood, not to mention the left side of my coat."

"I apologize," he said, cracking a smile. "It was not my intent to mar your brilliance."

Leidara snorted. "Silly elf. Flattering even when half-alive, and apologizing for something you cannot help. Are all your kind so flippant?"

Legolas attempted to laugh but gasped with pain. "No," he said, recovering swiftly, "I am young and strange."

"How old are you?" she asked, giving her ropes a half-hearted jerk. "We're not going anywhere so we might as well talk."

"Does all your kind ask the age of everyone you meet?" he shot back playfully. "Tell me, why are you a captive of Jadis?"

"I'll tell you when you say your age," she replied stubbornly, "and not before."

He sighed good-naturedly, rather enjoying this conversation with a horse and wondering what Mithrandir would think. Knowingly, the wizard would not be surprised. Nothing, he had discovered the hard way as an elfling, _ever _surprised the wizard.

"Five _yeni_," he answered her. "Seven hundred and twenty-five years, as men count them. By the reckoning of men, I am slightly over my twentieth year."

She stared at him, brown eyes wide and unblinking. "But –"

"No, no!" he said with a grin. "I told you what you wished to know, now you answer my question."

She scowled at him the best a horse was able. "Fine." She swished her tail thoughtfully. "I suppose the troubles of my family began last year. My father and mother always opposed the Witch, but they kept their disagreement a secret for fear of what she might do to my brother and I if she found out. However, my brother, Phillip, rash and impulsive as he is, ran off to join the small bands of resistance that were growing. The Witch caught sight of him once, after a failed attempt of one of the resistance bands to sabotage something or other and, though he managed to escape, she traced him back to us. My father swore he knew nothing of Phillip's doings or the operations of the resistance, but the Witch did not believe him. She took me and told my father that if he did not tell her about the resistance, I was doomed to die an old horse in her castle. My father, of course, could do nothing, since he knew nothing, and I spend several months in the Witch's prisons before she pulled me out for you to ride. So, here I am."

Legolas was silent for a few moments, as he thought on what she said. "It is a cruel fate, indeed, that tears apart families, and accuses the innocent," he said. "You are brave, Leidara, though I am sorry if I inconvenienced you in any way."

"It is true, I've never been ridden before, and the saddle and bridle were strange and unpleasant," she admitted, "but you could not help that. I'd heard stories about how some horses were ridden in lands south of here, so it wasn't entirely a shock to me." She studied him with a critical eye. "Now, I think it would be best if you rested. You are entirely too pale for my liking."

"Yes, _Naneth,_" he grumbled and let his eyes drift shut. He concerned him that his eyes did not remain open in proper elvish sleep, but he deduced that his body was just too exhausted.

"_Naneth_?" Leidara said, her voice confused.

"Mother," he replied, cracking an eye back open. "You _are _mothering me."

She snickered. "Considering that you are seven hundred and twenty-one years older than me, I am only four, that is an interesting idea. I am _not _mothering you, however. _Mothering _is when someone is worrying over you for no reason. I _have _a reason. Now, get some rest."

He rolled his eyes at her but obeyed, for he felt incredibly weary, and soon dropped into a dreamless sleep born from exhaustion.

o-0-o-0-o

"Legolas!"

He groaned, trying to shut out the insistent voice which pushed back the darkness shrouding his mind. He felt exceedingly strange, almost as if the blackness surrounding him was spinning and moving erratically, and he felt cold, something he had not felt for many years. He moaned again as pain shot through his arm and side, roughly jarring him back to full awareness. It was dark, and all the camp was covered under a deep, almost unnatural gloom.

"Legolas!" the voice came again.

He squinted up at Leidara, feeling an unexplainable annoyance at her for waking him. "What?"

"Someone's coming," she whispered with excitement, her ears twitching around as she fought to listen to something. "I hear some fighting at the edge of camp, and I hear hoof beats."

Legolas shook his head, struggling to make sense of her words in his sluggish mind. _Someone coming…fighting…._ Realization dawned, but before he could reply, the dwarf, Ginarrbrik, came stumbling through the trees as fast as his short legs would allow and hurried toward Edmund, drawing his dagger as he did so.

"No!" Legolas exclaimed, all vestiges of sleep abruptly gone. "Let him alone, you coward!"

Ginarrbrik just sent him a haughty look and strode over to where Edmund was thrashing against the ropes binding him in a wild panic. He placed the sharp steel against the boy's throat, and Edmund froze, eyes wide and breath coming in quick gasps. No sooner had the dwarf did so, when numerous figures of centaurs, fauns, and leopards appeared almost magically out of the darkness. The dwarf's smug look faltered, and all thoughts of valor faded from his face as he stared up the long sharp sword into the face of an angry centaur.

After another moment's hesitation, he withdrew his dagger from the boy's throat and dropped it to the ground. Two fauns pulled him away from the boy, and the centaur slashed the ropes binding Edmund to the tree. Edmund's hands flew up to his mouth and jerked out the gag, choking once the foul cloth was removed. The centaur immediately pulled the boy rather brusquely to his feet, and Edmund staggered and would have collapsed had not the centaur steadied him.

"Who are you?" Edmund asked, his voice hoarse from the gag.

"I am Oreius," the centaur replied. "Aslan sent us. Let me carry you; we must leave quickly before enemy reinforcements arrive."

"I'm not going without Legolas," Edmund replied, jerking himself from the centaur's grasp. He turned and made his way shakily to the shadowy grove where the elf was bound, Oreius following closely.

Legolas managed a weak smile at the boy. "Thank you, Edmund."

Edmund shook his head and knelt beside him. "You saved my life," he said softly. "The least I can do is make sure you get out of here, too. I promise that I'll make up for this someday."

Oreius asked no questions but stepped up and cut the elf's bonds, and Legolas slowly and carefully pushed himself to his feet, motioning at him to free Leidara. Standing, he swayed unsteadily, but Edmund gripped his good arm, balancing him. His head spun and he felt frustratingly feeble. He forced himself to remain standing upright, though he felt like collapsing never to rise or at least letting his shoulders sag from the pain in his side.

Leidara was by his side the moment she was released. "Hurry," she said. "Can you get on my back? I hear the enemy approaching."

Legolas nodded, and reached up to grab the saddle. Pain dizzied him once more, but he ignored it and set his foot in the stirrup before pulling himself quickly up into the saddle. Agony raced through him and darkened his vision, and he clung to her mane until it passed, letting the reins hang loosely on her neck.

Oreius had place Edmund up on his back, and they melted silently back into the gloom, disappearing from the camp like ruthless specters. The only evidence of their former presence was the dead enemies and the dwarf tied to a tree and gagged with his dagger through his hat.

Legolas remembered little of the ride, as he drifted between the worlds of between consciousness and unconsciousness. Leidara spoke to him often, begging him to remain awake until they reached their destination. He clung to her voice, using it to anchor to him life.

"Just hang on a little longer," she pleaded when she felt him relaxing and loosing the battle once more. "I think we're almost there. Please say something. Just one word."

"_Im cuin_," he choked out, his mind too befuddled by pain and exhaustion to form sentences in the common tongue.

"I don't know what that means," Leidara replied breathlessly, "but it works. Just keep talking."

"_Am man theled_?" Legolas mumbled. He wanted so badly to surrender to the warm, painless blackness which beckoned for him, and the thought of purposely attempting to remain awake seemed ridiculous and unnecessary.

She did not understand that, either, but the question in his voice was clear. "I'm afraid if you allow yourself to fall unconscious completely, you will never awake," she told him. "Please just keep fighting a little longer."

"_Im carú aníra o_," he murmured, surprising himself. _I don't want to…_ He flushed, ashamed of his sudden despair and was glad she did not understand his words. The thoughts drifted away as soon as they appeared, and he was left empty and unsure of what he had spoken.

She seemed to understand the emotion in his words, however, and lengthened her stride, calling something out to Oreius that he did not catch. "Keep talking," she urged him.

"_A Elbereth Gilthoniel o menel palan-diriel_," he whispered dreamily, uncertain in his confused state of what he was saying,"_le nallon sí di-nguruthos. A tiro nin, Fanuilos_!" A peace calmed his troubled spirit, and he slumped farther down on the saddle, as he attempted to force his aching, oddly blank mind to think.

"Legolas!" Leidara cried, startled and frightened by his movement.

"_Carú achas an nin_; _Im mae_," he muttered, knowing even in his semi-conscious state that it was a lie. He was _not _well and felt as if he would never feel well again.

Abruptly, she broke stride and stopped amid a subdued flurry of noises and voices. He heard Leidara speaking rapidly but could not make out her words and felt himself being gently lifted down from her back. He wanted to resist, for his pride detested being carried like an elfling, but could not find the strength to do so. He wanted to at least open his eyes, prove to a distraught Leidara and a concerned Edmund that he was awake, but his body refused to cooperate with him.

Irritated, he suffered himself to be carried somewhere and laid on a bed. Tender but skilled hands inspected his wounds, and he hissed with pain, jerking himself involuntarily away at the touch. The hands disappeared, and he could hear a low buzz of conversation.

"Legolas?" he heard Edmund's familiar voice right above him. "Please wake up." A tentative hand was laid on his shoulder.

Legolas felt another stab of annoyance. He _was _awake, he just couldn't get his body to obey the orders of his mind. Angrily, he fought against his pain and exhaustion and finally succeeding in opening his blurred eyes to look up into Edmund's relieved face.

"He's awake!" the boy pronounced to someone behind him.

An older faun shuffled forward dressed in leather armor and carrying a cup. "Good, good," he said, eyeing his patient with curiosity. "Are you injured anywhere else beside your arm and side?"

Legolas forced his dulled mind to work but could not think of any other major injuries. His whole body ached, though, so he could be missing something… He firmly pushed that thought to the side and shook his head carefully, not finding the energy to speak.

The healer nodded knowingly and pushed Edmund gently out of the way. "I have a potion that will help the pain," he said, stepping up to the bedside with the cup.

Legolas' eyes narrowed and he clenched his jaw, having no desire to drink any more unidentified liquids, especially ones that might stultify with little there was left of his alertness. "_Ten caro nin losto([will it make me sleep)_?" he managed and then frowned at the slurred, incomplete sentence that had escaped him. Seeing the confusion on the face of the faun, he sighed softly and attempted to rephrase the sentence in the common tongue. "_Will _it cause me to sleep?"

The healer nodded. "Yes, but rest is what you need desperately. You need to give you body time to recuperate from the enormous amount of blood you have lost."

Legolas knew this but was unwilling to allow himself to be drugged. Even though he knew he was no longer in the Witch's hands, not knowing his location bothered him immensely. "Where am I? Who are you?" he persisted.

"You are in the camp of Aslan," the faun answered impatiently, "and I am Redrick, a healer in Aslan's service." His tone softened. "Do not worry. You are safe here, and none will harm you. Please, drink."

With a sigh, Legolas consented, and the healer helped him drink the foul concoction. It was exceedingly bitter and acidic, but he choked it down, dryly wondering if all healers had some sort of telepathic communication that allowed them to plot up their disgusting brews. That one had tasted suspiciously like one of Lord Elrond's… He smiled slightly at the ridiculous thought and allowed his eyes to close, dropping off into a healing sleep.

o-0-o-0-o

**Translations: **

_(Q) yeni – _Plural of a yen which equals 144 years

_Naneth – _mother

_Im cuin_ – I [am alive

_Am man theled_ –What for

_Im carú aníra o – _I don't want to

_A Elbereth Gilthoniel o menel palan-diriel le nallon sí di-nguruthos. A tiro nin, Fanuilos - _O Elbereth Star-kindler, from heaven gazing afar, to thee I cry now in [lit. beneath the shadow of death. O look towards me, Everwhite!

_Carú achas an nin_; _Im mae – _Don't fear for me; I [am well

_Ten caro nin losto – _[Will it make me sleep

**A/N: **Whew… I _finally _got Legolas away from that Witch and safe in Aslan's camp. We'll see the rest of the children and the great Lion next chapter. Anyway, I'm sure some of you are wondering about Legolas' age. I read an essay on Legolas that covered everything about him from his age to why he was never referred to as a prince. It was quite interesting, and the writer deduced through speculations, things Legolas said in the books, and from his past history, that Legolas was around seven hundred years old during the War of the Ring, give or take a hundred years or so. The link to the essay is in my profile if you want to read it.

Alright, –Ila heaves a sigh– I know that none of you want to hear this… ;-) but don't expect me to post regularly anymore. I just don't have the time or energy to keep this up. Sorry. I have a few non fanfiction writing projects screaming desperately for my attention and a few deadlines to make. I _**will**_ finish these stories, however. Of course, a few more reviews from the people I _know _are reading and not reviewing, (I can check my hits, people!) might be the incentive to get me to write faster. :-) Of course, if you are disinclined to acquiesce to my humble request, I'm glad to know that you are still reading and enjoying the story. Thank you, everyone!

_Navaer_! Ila


	6. Many Meetings

**A/N: **First I want to thank –takes deep breath– _**szepilona10, ligerjager, trecebo, jen1390, Jimmy Candlestick, StrangerToTheWorld, PrincessOfTheUnderworld, MakruTree, Pip4, jambaby1963, White Atropos, Peregrin Ionad, Inwe Nolatari, MagicalMary, Muffing, Starset, Kari, Kimsa Ki-Lurria, Calenlass Greenleaf1, Nobody, FoxyHottie, eiremouse, fluffys-sidekick, Jiko Hitasura, Ketsueki-Ken, and Aya-Shoru**_for reviewing.

Wow. Twenty-six reviews…You guys are tremendous!! Thank you so much for the encouragement! This has been a really tough couple weeks for me health wise, and you don't know how wonderful it is to open my gmail and see those reviews. Thank you, thank you, thank you! Loving you guys! Ila

**Chapter Six: Many Meetings**

Legolas returned to consciousness slowly, and for the first time in the last few days, he did not fight it. He let his mind clear and felt himself wafting his way up out of the darkness. He remembered everything that had happened before with complete clarity, and it puzzled him, for usually, waking from a drug induced sleep caused extreme disorientation. Inwardly, he smirked. Fancy being confused because you weren't confused. He rolled his closed eyes at that and tentatively reached out with his mind to check on his wounds. His side and arm ached dully, but the cuts on his throat were already mostly healed. Now for the next, larger step.

Drawing a deep breath, he squinted his eyes open, forcing them to remain so as the bright light invaded. After a few moments, his eyes adjusted, and he curiously took in his surroundings. He was in a tent, the red fabric sides fluttering lightly in an unseen morning breeze, and he was lying on a bed of soft silken sheets. His tunic and leggings, neatly folded, washed, and mended, lay on a table of polished wood which sat beside his bedside. The healer, the faun Redrick, slumped in a chair, snoring softly. Rugs were laid out on the grass, and Legolas could not help wonder at the finery.

He lifted his arm before him and inspected the bandage thoughtfully. No discoloration marked the white bandage, and so he pulled up the loose white tunic he wore and glanced at his side. The bandages there were also pristine, and he gave a soft sigh of relief. Over the last couple of days, he had begun to wonder how much blood he actually _had_ in his body, and he was glad to know that the continuous flow had finally stopped.

The healer stirred in his sleep, and Legolas shot him a glance, instinctively thankful when he settled back into his dreams. Healers always awoke a strange rebellious spirit in him – one that was determined to escape the watchful, or not so watchful, eyes. The feeling always reminded him of how he felt as an elfling during his midnight forays to the kitchens.

Smiling slightly, he pushed himself slowly up into a sitting position. His head swam, and he gripped the sheets momentarily until the dizzy spell passed. He knew that he was seriously dehydrated, and though there were several water skins in the room, he dared not drink lest he swallow another one of those disgusting potions. Pushing his thirst back into a corner of his mind, he stood cautiously, wincing as his side burned and head protested.

After shooting the healer another glance, he took his clothes and quickly dressed, slipping on his boots which sat next to the bed. He felt strangely vulnerable without his weapons, and it was with a pang that he remembered they remained in the Witch's camp. Elladan and Elrohir had given the knives to him, and his mother had fashioned the bow for him with her own hands. Every arrow had been fletched with his brothers amid their bantering, and his younger sister had made the quiver and sheaths for his knives for his seven hundredth begetting day. He treasured them all, and it made his blood boil to know that they were in enemy hands.

Speaking of his mother…His hands flew up to his neck, and he gasped with relief as his fingers wrapped around the pendant. He would never forgive himself if he lost this. With a shaky sigh, he sat back down on the bed and ran his fingers through his tangled hair, brushing out most of the knots before doing his braids. While he worked, he stretched his senses out towards his surroundings, listening to the soft chatter of voices and smelling the aroma of fresh bread on the air. The bread called his attention to how hungry he really was. How long had it been since he had eaten? Two days? Three? The days of his imprisonment had blended together, and he no longer remembered. Water, however, was on the top of his priority list, as was finding Leidara, Edmund, and this Aslan, if he was here.

Standing, he stood and exited the tent, purposing to find the objects of his desire. Bright sunlight flooded his eyes, and he blinked cautiously, surveying his surroundings. His tent was at the edge of the camp, and the bustle was behind him, leaving him the grass and trees. He sighed and drew in a deep breath, savoring the smell of life. He stepped towards the forest, when a voice stopped him.

"Just where do you think _you _are going?"

He froze and looked over to where Leidara stood watching him next to a chestnut horse. He smiled sheepishly and walked over to her. "Good morning, Leidara. How do you fare?"

She laid her ears back at him. "How do _I _fare, is it? Let me turn that question back to you. What in all the stars in the sky are you doing up?"

"I am fine," he said, waving her concern off dismissively. "Merely stiff. I came looking for water and for you and Edmund."

"You're fine, my eye," Leidara growled. "You lost half your body weight in blood these last few days."

Legolas frowned at her. "You are mothering me again. And I actually am fine, believe it or not." Pointedly, he turned his attention from her and to the horse at her side. "I don't believe we've met."

"Of course you haven't met him yet," Leidara said, sending the elf her best glare. Legolas just grinned at her. "This is my brother, Phillip. Phillip, this is Legolas."

The other horse studied him curiously for a moment. "Pleased to meet you, Master Elf. Leidara has been telling me about you."

Legolas sighed. "Oh, dear. Should I be worried?"

Phillip nickered a laugh. "No, I assure you, she feels only respect for you."

"Oh, I'm worried," Legolas said dryly and dodged out of the way as Leidara nipped at him. "Look," he told her, "I am truly fine, but I am really thirsty."

"You are to dine with the humans if you are able," Phillip said. "At least, that's what I was told."

"Humans?" Legolas asked.

"Edmund's siblings arrived a day or so before us," Leidara said. "They, luckily, had a smoother journey."

Legolas stiffened as the tent flap opened behind him, and the healer stumbled out, setting his bleary eyes on the prince.

"What are you doing up?" Redrick demanded. "You're in no condition to be standing, much less walking. Come, back to bed." He stepped up to the elf and reached for his arm, clearing intent on dragging him back if the need persisted.

Legolas disregarded the complaints of his injuries and jumped out of the healer's reach, swinging himself up on Leidara. "Go!" he urged her, leaning forward. "I've got breakfast waiting and a healer to escape."

For a moment, Leidara seemed torn, uncertain whether to hand him back over to the faun or listen to his pleas. The idea of an escape was too much fun for her youthful spirit to ignore, and she sprang up and dashed off, Redrick in hot pursuit.

Phillip shook his head and followed them at a leisurely canter.

Legolas immediately regretted his choice to ride, as his healing side and arm ached fiercely, but not his decision to escape the healer. He refused to acknowledge the pain and glanced over his shoulder at Redrick, who was keeping up remarkably well. "Faster, Leidara," he called to her, waving blithely at the frustrated healer.

Leidara tossed her head and lengthened her stride, careening through the camp and sending creatures dogging for cover. Abruptly, she leaned back on her haunches and slid to a stop. Edmund and three other young humans looked up from where they sat around a low table, apparently almost ready to eat.

"Edmund," she cried, "look what I've got."

Edmund scrambled to his feet and ran over. "Legolas!" he exclaimed. "What are you doing up?"

The elf grinned. "Escaping healers." He threw a glance behind him, and an expression of alarm crossed his face. "Oh, he's coming. Excuse me." Standing on Leidara's back, he grabbed a branch above his head and pulled himself up into a tree. A sharp pain stabbed through his side, but he ignored it and watched down through the branches as Redrick ran into the clearing, breathing hard.

Spotting Leidara and Edmund, he marched over to them. "Where's the elf?" he demanded.

Leidara swished her tail and gave him her best innocent look. Edmund just shrugged. "I believe he has vacated the premises."

Redrick blinked at him and then folded his arms across his chest. "Legolas has a potentially lethal side wound and has probably torn his stitches, and you're hiding him? Don't be foolish. He needs to stay off his feet at the very least a week."

Legolas snickered softly. At the very latest, he would be fine in four days.

Unfortunately, for him, fauns had excellent hearing, and Redrick glanced sharply up into the branches of the tree above him. "_What_ are you doing in a tree?!" he bellowed. "Come down now, or I'll send a leopard up after you."

With a defeated sigh, Legolas dropped from the branches and landed with a slight grimace beside Edmund. "You want me?"

Redrick scowled at him darkly. "You could say that, young fool. Come. I'm probably going to have to restitch your wounds after this imprudence."

Legolas crossed his arms and sent the healer the full weight of the glare gifted to all the sons of Thranduil. "I know the limits of my body and will not injure myself, but I am not, repeat, _not_ going to be confined in that tent. You'd want to move around too if you had been tied up for the last few days. Whether you believe it or not, my wounds are healing swiftly and are probably almost completely closed. However, if you do not believe me, you can see them _after_ I get something to eat and drink."

Redrick met his gaze and then grudgingly looked away. "I suppose," he muttered with normal healer reluctance. "I'll be back at your tent and expect you there as soon as you have finished breakfast." He turned to Leidara. "I hold you accountable to watch over him and get him there." Sending the elf one last, disapproving glance, the healer stalked back into the camp.

For a moment, Leidara, Edmund, and Legolas just looked at each other, and then Leidara nickered a giggle, and Legolas sent the horse a glare before joining in her laughter. Edmund just rolled his eyes.

"I say, what's gotten into you two?" the boy said with amused exasperation.

Legolas frowned in mock thoughtfulness. "Perhaps because we're free and still alive?" he suggested. "But setting aside our strangeness –"

Leidara snorted. "_Your _strangeness, you mean, elf."

"Fine then." He grinned roguishly. "Setting aside _my _strangeness, you have yet to introduce me to your siblings, Edmund."

The boy just shook his head and led them over to where his siblings sat watching the exchange. The three other children rose as he walked over, and Legolas studied them carefully as Edmund introduced them.

"Legolas, this is my brother Peter, he's seventeen, and my sisters Susan, age sixteen, and Lucy Pevencie, who's nine. Guys, this is Legolas – he's an elf."

"_Mae govannen, mellyn_," Legolas said with a smile as he bowed slightly and swept out his hand in an elvish greeting. He was amused at the boy's introductions and wondering if all humans gave out their ages so readily. "Well met, friends. I am honored to meet the saviors of Narnia."

Peter, the eldest, shook his head, sudden confusion on his handsome, young face. "I – I don't know about that, sir. I still think this is a mistake, and we're not who they think we are." He motioned for the elf to be seated, and they all settled comfortably around the table. "In fact, I don't know what to think of a lot of things."

"I understand completely," Legolas said, his eyes darkening as he thought of his family.

For a moment, there was silence. "Well," Susan said breezily, evidently trying to dispel the gloom which seemed to fall over them, "Edmund's told us all he knows about you, sir, and we are grateful for what you've done for him. We owe you a great deal."

Legolas dipped his head in acknowledgement. "I only wish I could have done more. However, Edmund is strong and went through much without any aid from me." He sent a fond glance at the clearly embarrassed boy. "You owe me nothing."

Peter managed a weak smile. "So, you were also unceremoniously dumped into Narnia?"

"Yes," Legolas answered, his eyes clouding once more. "However, I was running for my life at the time with escape a slim chance indeed, so I suppose I should be glad. I am concerned for my family, though. I'm afraid they will be extremely worried."

There was another long silence, before young Lucy spoke up hesitantly. "Can you tell us about where you are from, Legolas?"

He smiled sadly. "Not now, for the tale of my land is long and sorrowful, and much is not for young ears to hear." He firmly pushed aside his doubts and anxiety and laughed lightly. "This day should be for rejoicing, for Edmund, Leidara, and I are free once more. No more darkness, cold, ropes, chains –"

"– gags, or witches," Edmund finished firmly yet with a smile of his own.

A snort came from behind them, and they turned to see Leidara looking at them with profound annoyance. "And no delirious elves who stubbornly claim to be fine."

Legolas grinned sheepishly as the children laughed. "Well, my brothers and I decided that when someone is still conscious, they are technically still fine."

Leidara laid back her ears at him. "Stars above help us…"

The ice was broken, and for the next half hour, Legolas listened as the children chattered gaily about Narnia and its strange and wonderful creatures while they ate. Phillip had arrived by this time, and he and Leidara joined in the conversation heartily, correcting and laughing at the newcomers' mistakes and misconceptions.

Legolas wasn't sure what to think of his situation. He had not had dealings with Men for so long… and now he sat eating with four human children, the supposed saviors of Narnia. He rubbed his forehead with a heavy sigh, half wondering if he was going mad. Of all the crazy things he had ever imagined happening in his lifetime, this was definitely not one of them.

He stared sightlessly out at the forest, feeling the trees calling for him. The green leaves danced on wind and created a rustling, sylvan melody harmonized by the chattering and songs of the birds.

_Come, _the trees seemed to whisper, their language foreign but strangely understandable. _Come, one attuned to nature. Come and speak with us._

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, feeling them reaching out and touching his mind. Their touch was gentle and calming to his troubled thoughts, and he was astounded by their aliveness. The trees back in Mirkwood were falling under shadow and drifting to sleep, and the ones that were still awake could only emit emotion and not direct words. It had been many years since he had come across a tree able to speak freely.

"Legolas?"

He started and opened his eyes to see the children watching him with concern.

"Are you alright?" Lucy asked, her large brown eyes worried.

He smiled. "Yes. I apologize for startling you. I was just thinking."

"Yes, you were," Leidara cut in as she trotted up to his side. "You were thinking that you are weary and need Redrick to check your wounds."

He frowned at her. "No, I was thinking that I should go for a walk."

"A walk?" Leidara exclaimed, aghast. "Absolutely not! You need to rest."

"Horses are not the only beings who can sleep standing," Legolas returned, pushing himself to his feet. "I can also rest while walking. It is not natural for an elf to sleep with their eyes closed though lately I have done so because my body was healing itself.

"Please, Leidara," he added before she could find a retort. "I just need some time alone to clear my thoughts." Bowing slightly to the Penvencies, he turned and walked towards the woods, relieved when Leidara did not attempt to stop him.

"Never," he heard her snort, "have I met a creature as flighty as that elf."

Smiling to himself, he slipped into the forest, touching the trees gently as he passed them and sending them greetings. They were delighted by his ability to commune with them, and the leaves rippled with joy at his touch.

After walking for some time, he began to feel the ache of his side once more, and he sat down on the soft moss beside an old crab apple tree and closed his eyes, breathing in the sweet smell of apple blossoms and spring. The warm breeze ruffled his hair and caressed his face with tender fingers, and he dropped his hands to his sides and fingered the young grasses.

_One cannot understand true freedom,_ he mused, _until it is taken away. Only when it slips through one's fingers can one understand what he has lost. And now that I have it once more, I shall take even greater care not to lose it again. _

The breeze died away, but the rustling of the leaves continued, and he glanced up and inhaled sharply with surprise.

Some petals from the crab apple dropped away from the branches and swirled toward him, taking the form of a woman as they did so. The petals seemed to meld together, and abruptly a young woman stood before him clad in a simple, sleeveless pale pink gown. Her hair and eyes matched the color of the crab apple's bark, and she was as beautiful as any _elleth_ yet seemed to be as ancient as the wisest elf lord.

"Greetings, friend of trees," she said, pausing before him. "I am a nymph, the spirit of this crab apple you lean against. I wish to welcome you to our fair woods and express the pleasure of many at your presence. Never, besides the great Lion, have we met one who can speak to us when we are in our natural form of bark and branches."

Legolas stood hastily and bowed to her, struggling to contain his amazement at the sight before him. "The pleasure is all mine, my lady. Your presence strengthens me and sooths my spirit. It is my great joy to be able to communicate with you in any of your beautiful forms."

The nymph smiled. "Ah, you flatter. However, I have also come to deliver to you a message. Aslan desires to speak with you. If you continue straight on before you, you shall come to a hill where the forest ends. He waits for you there. Farewell, friend."

Legolas bowed to her once more. "Farewell, my lady."

In a gust of wind, she dissipated, and her petals floated away, leaving him alone once more. He stood for a few moments in unmoving silence, his mind full of what had just happened. Never before had he seen or heard of such a thing, and he felt as though…. He shook his head, unable to put his thoughts into words.

Temporarily pushing thoughts of the nymph aside, he recalled her words of Aslan and started off into the woods in the direction spoken to him. He dared not think or imagine what Aslan might be like, for he had never seen a living lion before, only sketches in books of history or lore. He could not help but wonder, however, who the Lion might be and why such a warm feeling filled him whenever he thought the name.

He exited the trees into the bright sunlight, the sky more brilliant than the rarest sapphires. A gentle, grass-covered hill rose up before him, and at the pinnacle, facing away over the valley below, sat the Lion.

His mane danced in the wind like a river of flowing gold, and his long tail wrapped around his massive paws, the dark point twitching slightly. He held an aura of power, authority, and wisdom which surpassed even what Legolas had felt emitting from the wisest elven lords he knew. Yet, kindness was also a part of him, and Legolas hesitantly stepped forward and continued up the hill, feeling like an undeserving elfling. A few feet back from the Lion, he paused and stood hesitantly, waiting to be addressed.

After a moment of silence, Aslan stood and turned to face him, his paws silent on the soft grass. "Greetings, Legolas Thranduilion," he said, his voice deep and mellow. His golden eyes were filled with the most tender love that young elf had ever seen.

Legolas gasped slightly, unwilling to look away from those eyes, those eyes which looked right into his heart and warmly comforted the hurts there, those eyes which saw his confusions and fears and shone with understanding and sympathy. He felt as though he stood in the presence of One who had known him the day he was born and had been with him though every heartache and joy, every mistake and victory, every regret. And suddenly, he knew.

"Eru," he breathed, sinking to his knees. "Ilúvatar."

Aslan smiled gently. "You speak the names of my Father, and he and I are one and the same. So, yes, my son, I am he whom the inhabitants of Middle-earth call Eru Ilúvatar, though here, I am simply known as Aslan, the Lion."

"Why a lion, my lord?" Legolas asked in shock yet unable to hold back the question.

Aslan laughed easily. "The main populace of Narnia is talking animals; as I come to them in their need to guide them, shouldn't I also come as one of them?"

"Middle-earth is in need, my lord," Legolas replied, knowing without asking that any questions he asked would be answered, and he need not hold back. "Why do you not come to defeat Sauron and rule us?"

Sorrow filled the Lion's gaze, and he sighed deeply. "Many would not receive me, for their hearts are hard and filled with hate. Until the world is ready, I will not come, for what kind of love is forced? However, there will always be those who choose the fleeting pleasures of evil over my love.

"Yet still," Aslan continued, "I am not as absent as you may think, for did you not know me?"

A slight frown creased Legolas' brow as he struggled to decipher the Lion's puzzling words and his latest question. "I-I don't know how I knew," he said at last. "I just knew."

Aslan lifted a paw and placed it against the elf's chest. "That is because I've always been with you in your heart – and I always will be. Do not fear the trials before you, for you will never be alone."

Legolas smiled, and his fingers reached up and touched the strong paw, feeling the warmth, love, and energy of the Lion course into him. "Speaking of trials," he said at last, "why am I here? Surely there is a reason."

"Nothing happens without a reason," Aslan replied and turned away. "Walk with me, Legolas."

Legolas rose, and the two walked along the ridge in silence for a few moments. Finally, the Lion paused. "Look. What do you see?"

Legolas squinted slightly in the sunlight and scanned the expanse before them. Small hills covered in grass or trees leaped out beneath them, and on the horizon, a palace stood on a high crag, its white stone glimmering and glistening. Beyond it, a wide expanse of blue reflected the sky, and its surface glittered with fallen stars.

"The sea," he breathed. He lifted his hand to shade his eyes and studied the scene with undeniable excitement. He had always longed to look upon the sea, even though his father had warned him of the dangers. He glanced down at Aslan. "Will it call to me?"

"The sea beckons to all," the Lion replied, "but if you speak of the sea-longing, then no. It is not this sea that shall awaken your desire to sail. Like the sea, the future is always changing while the past remains the same. It is because of both the past and the future that I called you here."

"Is it because of the history of Jadis and my grandfather?" Legolas asked.

"I see she told you," Aslan said. "But, yes, you are correct in a way. However, since Jadis caused much suffering in Middle-earth as a student of Morgoth, it is only right that a representative from that world and your family should be here in this crucial time."

"But why me?" Legolas said. "Why not my father? I am young while he is older and wiser. He is also the son of Oropher while I am only the grandson."

Aslan laughed softly. "Dear Thranduil! Your father is an enigma who causes the Valar to cry aloud in frustration. Indeed, he is older and holds much knowledge, but he is also set in his ways and has a great deal of pride. You are yet willing to learn and change, and though you have pride, it is not so deeply rooted as your father's. While Thranduil believes in my existence as Eru, I doubt he would understand why I would become a lion in a land of talking animals."

Legolas smiled, picturing his father's face if he found out that Ilúvatar himself had become a lion. "I believe I understand your reasoning, my lord, though I am not sure I am worthy of the honor of being the representative of Middle-earth."

"I know your worth and your heart, my son," Aslan replied, his eyes affectionate and perceptive as they rested on the young elf. "And that is why you are here. Remember what I said, Legolas. I will always be with you, even to the end of the world."

Legolas bowed his head in acknowledgement, his heart full. "_Le hannon_." He raised his head and gasped softly, for Aslan was gone, and the windswept grass before him was empty.

Yet, his heart was full; love and devotion burned within him for the Lion, Aslan, Eru Ilúvatar. Standing on the hill in the breeze, he laughed aloud with joy and wonder, for he had spoken with the Creator and was counted as His son. That in itself was still difficult for him to take in. Shaking his head, he turned and started down the hill back towards camp, his mind ringing with Aslan's words.

_Never alone._

o-0-o-0-o

**Translations:**

_Mae govannen, mellyn – _Well met, friends

_elleth – _elf maiden

_Le hannon – _Thank you

**A/N: **Well, I hope you liked it! I'm sorry for the long wait, but I've been (sadly) quite busy and sick. I hope that everyone looking forward to a meeting between Legolas and Aslan were satisfied. It was a bit nerve racking trying to write the Lion. :-) I did follow the books in regards to some areas of the nymphs and the slight bit about Aslan's Father.

Well, thanks again to everyone who left those glorious reviews! I would love to hear everyone's opinions and critiques of this chapter!

Blessings! Ila


	7. Of Swords, Arrows, and Traitors

Legolas sat high in a tree by the edge of a clearing, watching as Peter and Edmund clumsily attempted to spar with an increasi

A/N: -clears throat- I have an announcement to make: We have now passed one-hundred reviews! A thousand thanks to my wonderful reviewers!

_**Ne'ith5, Inwe Nolatari, Jimmy Candlestick, trecebo, Pip4, fluffys-sidekick, ketsueki-ken, jambaby1963, szepilona10, Dearborn, Kari, Calenlass Greenleaf1, PrincessVictoriaAnnMacbeth, MakruTree, Aya-Shoru, aisarikka, Calathiel of Mirkwood, The Halfling of the Shire, Neverland Dreaming, Starset, Queen Su **_(who just started a really cool Narnia/LotRs crossover)_**, Peregrin Ionad, knighted lioness, Mini Librarian, TheObsidianPhoenix, kali, I am the Bane of my Sword, FireChildSlytherin5, artistic sprite, Spirit HellFire, Grace,**_ and _**SelenaWolf**_.

_**artistic sprite **_– I doubt I will continue this on into Prince Caspian, as I have some other stories in mind I would like to write. I have considered it, though. Maybe someday… :-)

-gives all reviewers a huge hug- Writing this chapter has been extremely difficult, as I've been struggling through writer's block, and your reviews have meant everything! Thanks so much for your wonderful encouragement! –Ila

**Chapter Seven: Of Swords, Arrows, and Traitors**

Legolas sat high in a tree by the edge of a clearing conversing with a dryad and watching as Peter and Edmund clumsily attempted to spar with an increasingly frustrated Oreius. Peter was showing the faintest spark of understanding, but Edmund… he was practically a lost cause. Oh, he could learn, but it would take immense time and effort from both teacher and pupil.

The elf winced in sympathy for the centaur as the younger boy floundered his way through another form, the wooden training sword he held waving around dangerously. Peter jumped back hastily to avoid being knocked on the head and coughed into his hand to hide a laugh.

Edmund wasn't fooled, and his dark eyes snapped angrily as he threw the sword down in disgust. "It's no blasted use!" he exclaimed, dropping down on the grass beside his abandoned weapon.

"Come on, Ed," Peter said, ruffling his brother's hair. "It's not like we're going become expert swordsmen in an hour."

Edmund ducked out from underneath his brother's hand and sent him a half hearted scowl. "I _know _that, Peter!"

"Then stand up and give it another go," the elder boy encouraged.

Edmund gave a heavy sigh and glanced up at the large, silent centaur towering over them, watching the exchange impassively. "Fine," he said at last, pushing himself wearily to his feet. Picking up his sword, he fell into a form slightly more graceful than the last time.

Legolas excused himself from the dryad and made his way carefully down the tree, feeling Leidara's gaze boring into him the entire way down. Though Redrick had reluctantly given him a clean bill of health after his talk with Aslan a few hours ago, the healer had laid a certain number of restrictions on the elf, which Leidara seemed delighted in enforcing. Unfortunately, for her, Legolas was less than cooperative and had climbed a tree, restrictions or no restrictions. Since then, she had contented herself with glowering at him from a distance.

As much as Legolas appreciated Leidara's friendship, her hovering had begun to get unbearable, and he was selfishly glad for sudden distance between them.

Dropping to the ground, he started across the grassy field towards the humans and centaur. The cool breeze, a lingering reminder of the recent winter, caressed his face and sent his hair swirling into his eyes. With a semi-conscious gesture, he flicked it aside, his gaze watching Peter spar in careful, controlled movements with Oreius.

The elder boy's eyes were serious and concentrated as he carefully followed the centaur's instructions, his sword parrying and thrusting in slow, gentle moves. Oreius blocked and deflected the blows with practiced ease, pausing occasionally to correct his student's grip.

Edmund stood a few paces off to the side, his face impassive but his eyes shinning with pride as he watched his brother. There was no doubt that he cared deeply for Peter, a fact which Legolas was glad to see, as he recalled their conversation in the Witch's dungeon.

Walking up, he laid a hand briefly on the younger boy's shoulder. Edmund started and glanced up, flashing a smile as he saw whom it was. "Isn't Peter grand?" A note of wistfulness entered into his voice. "I'll never be half as good as he is."

"He certainly shows great potential," Legolas returned. "However, I do not doubt you will match him. All it takes is hard work and practice." His eyes narrowed slightly. "Peter," he called, "you are not a centaur – bend your knees slightly."

Peter paused mid swing and glanced back in surprise. "Legolas! I did not see you come. What did you say?"

Legolas glanced at Edmund. "May I borrow your sword?"

Edmund wordlessly handed him the piece of wood, and Legolas walked out and bowed to Oreius. "I hope you do not mind my interruption, General. You are magnificent with a sword and a skilled instructor, but I fear there may be a few points in the art of swordplay you may not be able to teach."

Oreius smiled slightly. "Spoken truly, Master elf. However, I fear I will only allow a master swordsman to train my future monarchs."

Legolas arched an eyebrow, amused at hidden meaning in the centaur's words. "Do I detect a challenge, General? It has been many years since I fought with a sword, as I prefer long knives, but I am sure what skills I had have not deserted me. Shall we duel for the privileged position as teacher?"

The centaur stepped forward and bowed slightly. "True steel or practice swords?"

"I would say true steel, but I fear my weapons are still in the camp of Jadis," Legolas replied saluting Oreius cheekily with the wooden sword.

Oreius reached back and pulled a second sword out from a sheath on his flank, offering it to the elf. "Will this do?"

Legolas handed the practice sword to Peter and took the offered blade, examining it with a trained eye. It was smaller and lighter than the average broadsword and was quite plain, the one and a half hand hilt plain steel. However, the balance was perfect, and the hilt seemed to meld with his hand.

He glanced up at Oreius. "This is a beautiful sword. It will be more than ideal."

The centaur reached to draw his sword but hesitated. "Do you wish for armor?"

Legolas shook his head. "No, it only slows me." He glanced at Peter and Edmund who now stood side by side, looking rather excited about watching a _real _sparring match. "Pay attention, and perhaps you shall learn something."

Twirling the sword, he saluted Oreius once more with the blade. "_Eru, tirith mín megil_," he said, translating with a small smile, "_Aslan, _guard our swords." Falling into a defensive form, he waited.

Oreius drew his large broadsword and charged. Legolas leaped lightly aside, deflecting the blow rather than blocking it, knowing that his strength could not match that of the centaur. Ducking under a powerful swing, he used the flat of his blade to slide the follow up to the side, almost disarming the centaur, and jumped back out of range.

Oreius was certainly skilled, but he used more brute force than intricate moves – a fact that served well in the battlefield but less so when sparring. Unlike the witch, however, his strong blows were cautious and left few openings to be utilized.

Legolas kept himself in a slow, constant retreat, as his muscles gradually remembered old moves and forms. The bright sunlight glinted off the flashing blades, as their masters performed the deadly dance.

After a few minutes, Oreius, knowing he could not disarm the elf with the large amount of space the Legolas was keeping between them, leaped forward.

Legolas, startled by the unexpected move, barely managed to block the first blow. Throwing himself to the side, he rolled out of range and jumped to his feet, a wince of pain crossing his face. His side, practically healed though it was, protested bitterly against the sudden strain on it. However, he ignored it and turned to meet the charging centaur.

Suddenly, there was a flash of gold, and Leidara stood between them, her ears laid back against her head in fury. "Just what do you think you are doing, Legolas?" she snapped.

Legolas let out a quiet sigh, lowering his sword. "I am sparring with the General, Leidara. I trust there is a sensible reason for this interruption."

The horse's eyes flamed. "Sensible? I have more than a sensible reason! Are you trying to rip your side open again, elf? You are going to re-injure yourself! You know Redrick ordered you to rest! And what do you do? You ignore orders, climb trees, and spar!"

"Peace, Leidara," Legolas replied mildly. "As much as you like to think you are, you are _not _my guardian. I know the limits of my own body and will not overtax myself. You worry needlessly."

"Someone needs to curb your recklessness," Leidara retorted.

Legolas sent a helpless look at Oreius who appeared to be hiding a smile under his hand. The centaur caught the look and sheathed his sword, his face abruptly stern.

"Enough, Leidara," he said. "We shall end our match now. However, Legolas is right in the fact that you are not his guardian. You would do well not to try his patience."

The fire in the young horse's eyes dimmed, and she dropped her head at the firm, but not unkind, rebuke. "I apologize, General, Legolas. I should not have interfered." She glanced hesitantly at Legolas. "I just can't help but worry. I just… remember carrying you across the snow and feeling your blood soaking my coat."

Legolas reached up and laid a comforting hand on her neck. "Do not fear for me – I am fine. I will follow Redrick's orders for the rest of the day if you like."

She shook her head. "No, do as you please. General Oreius is correct. However," she raised her head flattened her ears back once more, "I will remain close to make sure you do not completely overtax yourself." Spinning on her haunches, she trotted a few meters away and lay down, smirking at him in a way only a horse could.

Shaking his head with exasperation, Legolas turned back to Oreius and offered him back the sword.

"Keep it for now, Legolas," the centaur replied with a slight smile. "Now, I have much to do in camp, so I would appreciate if you would work with their highnesses until dinner. After dinner, however, have them come back to camp, as I wish to work on their riding skills."

"It will be my pleasure to work with them if they agree," Legolas said glancing at the two boys. Peter nodded his agreement and Oreius handed Legolas the sheath for the sword before turning and trotting back towards camp.

Attaching the sheath to his belt, Legolas slipped into teacher mode. "Both of you, show me the defensive stance I used to begin the sparring match."

Exchanging glances, the two boys obeyed, both rather clumsily.

Legolas eyed them for a moment. "A sword, Sires, is not merely a weapon – it is an extension of yourself. How you wield it reflects on your character and your personality. However, the use of a sword is not confined to the waist up. Without proper stance and footwork, your ability to wield a sword is extremely limited. You must be ready to move in any direction the exact moment you are threatened. Now…."

o-0-o-0-o-0-o-0-o-0-o

An hour later, their training was interrupted as Lucy ran across the field towards them, daises in her bouncing hair. "Peter, Edmund!" she cried, her brown eyes sparkling as she threw her arms around her oldest brother. "We're going to have a picnic! Susan's bringing the food!" Abruptly, she seemed to remember her manners and dropped Legolas a curtsy with a giggle. "Can you join us, Legolas?"

He sheathed his sword and bowed back to her, laughing merrily at her exuberance. "Certainly, my lady! I am honored to accept." He turned back to the boys. "I suppose this marks the end of the lesson. You have both done well."

Peter and Edmund set aside the practice swords, as Susan appeared carrying a blanket and basket, Legolas noticing a bow and quiver on her back. The boys helpfully spread the blanket, and they all settled down to eat, while Lucy chattered on gaily about how she had been learning to throw her dagger properly and how nice the faun was who was teaching her.

Legolas preferred not to say much, still slightly uncomfortable about exchanging small talk with humans, but enjoyed listening to and studying them. They were so young to be burdened with leading and running a country, but he understood that Aslan knew what He was doing, and that provided a large measure of comfort.

"So, Legolas," Edmund said, rolling a grape between his fingers before popping it into his mouth, "you never did get a chance to explain what makes elves different than humans."

"Do not talk while chewing, Edmund," Susan reprimanded.

Edmund rolled his eyes. "Yes, Mum," he said good-naturedly, and Peter hurriedly bit into a piece of bread to hide his grin. Lucy did not succeed in suppressing a giggle.

Susan swatted her younger brother and scowled at her siblings but could not hide the sparkle of mirth gracing her gray-blue eyes. "What ever shall I do with you?" she sighed.

Legolas laughed lightly at their banter. "The answer to your question is rather lengthy, Edmund," he said, his voice calming them and drawing their attention. "There are many things that mark us as different, especially in the history of Middle-earth, my world. However, I will stay with the simple basics. We do not grow old, we do not get sick, and our senses are more attuned than a human's. Some of us can commune with nature and still others, like Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel, can envision the possible future."

The children were silent for a long moment, clearly digesting the information he had given them. From Susan's frown, it looked as though she was attempting to work out if such beings could _logically _exist. Edmund and Peter seemed thoughtful, while Lucy seemed merely excited about the reality of such marvelous creatures.

"What do you mean by 'the _possible_ future?'" Peter asked. "Can they not know for certain?"

Legolas shook his head. "No, they can only suspect and attempt to separate truth from falsehood. Like the sea, the future is always changing while the past remains the same," he said, pensively echoing Aslan's words.

"But enough about me," he said abruptly. "Tell me about yourselves." His gaze fixed on Edmund. "There are a few things I would like to be explained – such as how you all came to this world, and why Edmund was captured by the Witch."

The sparkle of life and interest dimmed from Edmund's eyes, and he flushed and refused to meet the elf's gaze, his hands nervously playing with the grass. The other children exchanged glances and shifted uncomfortably, clearly wishing for Edmund's permission to speak, but the younger boy refused to acknowledge them.

Legolas frowned slightly, wondering what they were hiding. What ever could make Edmund look so miserable? "If you do not wish to discuss it, that is fine," he said.

"No," Edmund said, his voice thick. "You should know; I should have told you earlier."

Susan laid a hand on her brother's arm, her face concerned. "Why don't we start at the beginning. Lucy?"

The younger girl glanced hesitantly at Edmund, clearly worried about him, before pouring out a tale of wardrobes, friendship, and heartache. Edmund picked up the tale and together, with a few interjections by the older two, they told of witches, betrayal, regret, and forgiveness. After nearly an hour, their story tapered off, and they waited anxiously for Legolas' reaction, as he had remained silent throughout the tale.

Legolas barely registered that they had stopped talking, his face impassive, though his heart ached for the sorrow and pain the children had experienced and, in Edmund's case, still felt. For a moment, he wondered why Aslan would have allowed such things to happen to them, but he banished the thought from his mind, knowing that the Creator had His reasons.

"Legolas?" Lucy's tentative voice broke into his thoughts, and he sent her a wane smile.

"That is a marvelous tale," he said quietly, "and it seems Aslan protected you all." He rested his gaze on Edmund, who quailed under it and looked away, clearly expecting to be rejected. "I will not say I understand why you betrayed your siblings, Edmund," he said, his tone gentle. "Yes, you were being selfish and cowardly, but you have changed greatly since then. Even now, you have proved to me that selfishness and cowardice have been purged from your being, for it takes great courage and selflessness to admit to one's mistakes. Everyone makes mistakes, some worse than others, but it is up to us to move on. Certainly, there may be consequences, but even mistakes are not without their worth, as can we learn much from them. They are road marks for us to look back on, even if they are unpleasant, and remember what they taught us – what they are still teaching us."

He leaned forward and raised Edmund's chin with a tender hand, looking deeply into the dark brown eyes which sparkled with moisture. "You, Edmund, have learned one of the greatest things of all: the love and faith of those close to you. Do not think that since you failed in this area, you have failed in life. Remember, losing one battle does not mean you have lost the war."

He sat back, and Edmund gave a faint smile in thanks for his words. The young boy's guilt for his crime was so strong, he seemed to be overshadowed by a cloud of remorse. And though Legolas would not condone his error, he found himself wishing he could somehow relieve the young boy of his burden that even a grown man would balk at, so he could be a child once more.

He shook his head slightly, tearing himself away from his thoughts. "Well," he said, standing gracefully, "Peter, you and Edmund should head back to camp to continue your training with Oreius – he is doubtlessly wondering where you are." He extended his hand to Susan and helped to stand. "And I was wondering, my lady, if you would allow me the pleasure of trying your bow in exchange for a few tips on my part?"

o-0-o-0-o-0-o-0-o-0-o

Two hours later, Susan's aim was drastically improved under Legolas' patient instruction, though she had yet to hit a bull's-eye. Legolas immersed himself in the teaching, for it reminded him of home, where he would aid some of the younger novices in training.

Susan showed amazing talent for how little she knew. She admitting taking archery lessons in school before coming to Narnia, and so she grasped the most basic concepts of the weapon. However, most of what she had learned, Legolas forced her to unlearn, as they were either incorrect or not as effective as what the elf himself knew. Still, her progress was astonishing.

Susan drew the bow and studied the target for a few brief seconds before releasing the arrow. It thudded into the target a good five inches from the bull's-eye. Lucy, who had joined them a few minutes before gasped with astonishment, clearly awed by her sister's growing skill. Susan winced slightly, however, as it was _not _one of her better shots.

Legolas stepped forward to retrieve the arrow but stopped as Lucy drew her dagger with a mischievous, sly smile on her face. Eyeing the target calculatingly down the blade of the dagger, she lifted her arm and threw. The small blade pierced the target dead center with the soft sound of slicing steel, leaving both Susan and Legolas staring at the target with matched looks of amazement. Lucy just grinned at them both, and Susan laughed.

Legolas shook his head at both of them and retrieved the arrow and dagger from the target. Handing them back to their respective owners, he turned to Lucy. "You have an excellent eye, my lady. I think you could be a talented archer yourself should you ever try it."

She blushed at the praise, but before she could reply, the sound of pounding hooves and the whinny of a horse drew her attention away, and the three turned to look.

Peter and Edmund crested the hill at a full canter, swords drawn. Edmund, whom Legolas noted with wry amusement, was riding Phillip, while Peter was riding a pure white unicorn. Before Narnia, Legolas would have sworn that such creatures as unicorns did not exist, but now, he was barely surprised.

Peter wheeled the unicorn around, cutting off Edmund and raising his sword. "Come on, Ed!" he called laughingly. "Sword point up, like Oreius showed us!"

"En garde!" Edmund retorted lashing out at his brother.

Peter brushed the attack aside and retaliated. "Now block!"

Edmund brought his sword up swiftly and did so, falling rather clumsily into one of the defensive patterns that Legolas had taught them as his elder brother attacked repeatedly. "Hey!" he yelped as Peter narrowly missed his fingers.

"Peter, Edmund!" A beaver, probably one of the two they had told him about earlier, Legolas surmised, came running through the grass.

Phillip, either genuinely startled by the beaver's sudden appearance or just wanted to test his rider, reared sharply with a frightened whinny.

Dropping the reins, Edmund grabbed the saddle, a flash of panic shooting across his face. "Whoa, horsie!" he cried.

The horse dropped back down and shot a long-suffering glance back at him. "My name is _Phillip_."

Edmund had the grace to blush, though he looked rather surprised that his horse could talk. "Oh," he said, his voice betraying his embarrassment. "Sorry."

The beaver, Mr. Beaver by the sound of it, continued to breathlessly blurt out his message as though the interchange between Philip and Edmund had never occurred. "The Witch has demanded a meeting with Aslan! She's on her way here!" Turning, he dashed back towards camp.

Edmund went pale, Peter's jaw clenched, and Susan's eyes narrowed. Lucy looked frightened, and Legolas felt a familiar cold fury awaken once more within him. "We better get down there," he said, his tone hardening.

Ginnarbrik's nasally voice reached Legolas' ears, as the crowd parted to let them through. "Jadis, the Queen of Narnia! Empress of the Lone Islands!" The four children stopped abruptly before him as they reached the front of the crowd. Legolas stood behind them, hands crossed firmly to keep them from wandering to the hilt of his sword.

Jadis, sitting proudly on a litter carried by four one-eyed, hideous creatures, ignored the angry shouts and taunts of Aslan's army, a slight smirk of contempt playing about the corners of her lips. She wore a stiff, white dress and her ice crown had melted almost completely. She was accompanied by only four minotaurs and had not brought her wand, yet still Legolas could not relax, a feeling of dread falling over him.

The Witch sent a cold glance at Edmund, and the boy stiffened, his face going white and his fingers curling tightly around his sword hilt. Her smile became even more scornful, and her gaze drifted away from the terrified boy and up to meet Legolas' blue eyes which burned with the cold fire of hate. She gave him an enigmatic half smile and nodded slightly in greeting before turning and walking towards Aslan who stood impassively before his tent.

The camp fell silent.

"You have a traitor in your midst, Aslan," she said.

Edmund dropped his eyes to the ground in shame as the gazes of the whole gathering rested on him, his freckles standing out sharply against his pale face. His breath came in heaves as he fought to control his feelings. Legolas laid a hand briefly on his shoulder but said nothing, waiting for the Lion's reply.

"His offense was not against you," Aslan said, his voice quiet but deadly.

"Have you forgotten the laws upon which Narnia was built?" Jadis returned.

A sharp snarl from Aslan caused the assembly to tense. "Do not cite the Deep Magic to me, Witch." His voice dropped. "I was there when it was written."

Jadis gave a grimace-like smile as though she had just scored a point in the debate. "Then you'll remember well that every traitor belongs to me. His blood is my property."

Legolas' breath snagged in his throat, and he reached forward and steadied Edmund as the boy swayed. _No, this can't be true_, the denials flew through his mind, and he subconsciously tightened his grip on Edmund's shoulder. _She is lying! Aslan would never allow such a thing…. _

He was jerked from his thoughts as Peter jumped forward, his sword sliding harshly from its sheath. The older boy's face was set, and his eyes flashed as he placed himself between his brother and the Witch.

"Try and take him then!" he challenged. The tension in the air increased dramatically, and the crowd murmured, both sides drawing their weapons.

Jadis sneered, clearly amused. "Do you really think that mere force will deny me my right," she raised an eyebrow mockingly, "little king."

Peter slowly lowered his sword, confusion and uncertainty slowly replacing the anger on his face.

Jadis turned her attention back to the Lion. "Aslan knows that unless I have blood as the law demands," she turned to face the crowd and raised her voice so all could hear, "all of Narnia will be overturned and perish in fire and water." She fixed her cold eyes on Edmund and leveled her fingers at him. "That boy will die on the stone table…as is tradition." She looked back at Aslan, her eyes triumphant. "You dare not refuse me."

"Enough," Aslan said firmly. "I shall talk with you alone." Turning, he vanished into his tent.

For a moment, Jadis hesitated before raising her chin and striding after him, flicking the tent flaps aside and disappearing into its interior.

A thick silence descended on the camp.

"Legolas," Edmund whispered faintly, "let me go, please."

Legolas blinked, having forgotten that he still gripped the boy's shoulder. He released his tight hold, and Edmund sank slowly to the ground, so pale it was almost frightening. The young boy hugged himself tightly, his unseeing eyes staring intensely at the ground, and his siblings knelt beside him, offering silent support.

Legolas fixed his gaze on the tent with a small scowl. He should be able to hear easily what was being said, yet he could hear nothing. It was almost as if something or _Someone _was…blocking him. It was a disconcerting thought.

Sighing, he turned his attention back to Edmund and sat down beside him. "Do not fear," he said, forcing out the words he did not feel. "Aslan will not let her touch you. And if something does happen, I will kill her."

Susan looked over at him with a slight frown, clearly taken back by this side of him. "Since she is here to treat with Aslan, she is protected, and we cannot attack her."

Legolas' face darkened. "I have no ties to Narnia or this army, thus, I have no qualms about killing her while she is under protection. We shall see if she can bring about the end of the world when she's dead."

"No, Legolas," Edmund said quietly. "My life is not worth risking an entire world over. I would rather _she _killed me than knowing that because my life was spared, a world was destroyed."

Legolas bowed his head, properly chastised. He knew and understood Edmund's words, but his mind rebelled against the injustice of the Witch's demand. "I know," he replied. "I just hate feeling so…helpless."

They fell silent. Time wore on – every minute seeming as if it were a year, until many in the army grew weary of standing and sat also. A heavy, suffocating quiet prevailed, broken only by an occasional murmur that was quickly hushed.

Edmund seemed to recover after a while, his shock being replaced by nervousness. He absently ripped a handful of grass from the ground and methodically broke each stem in half. He seemed deeply in thought, as his expression changed rapidly from anger to despair and to anger once again. In short, he was the picture of perfect dejection.

Peter just sat cross-legged before him, drumming his fingers and looking completely lost and vulnerable. Legolas could tell he was terrified of the possibility of being unable to protect his brother, to lose him a second time – this time permanently.

The sudden, unexpected noise of the tent flaps being thrust back jarred everyone quickly to their feet.

Jadis exited the tent, her face unreadable. For a long second, she locked gazes with Edmund, who stared back at her through wide, terrified brown eyes. Then, she broke contact and strode silently back toward her litter.

Legolas glanced uncertainly at Aslan who had also exited the tent. The Lion's posture seemed sorrowful, almost…defeated. For a moment, Legolas feared the worst, that the Witch would have her way, but then Aslan sent Edmund an almost invisible smile and turned back to the assembly.

"She has renounced her claim on the Son of Adam's blood."

The soldiers cheered and clapped loudly, and Peter pulled a stunned yet exuberant Edmund into a quick, brotherly embrace before releasing him to Susan, who threw her arms around him.

"Prince Legolas." The words cut through the sounds of merrymaking, and, once more, everyone fell silent and stared at Witch. She flicked her hand at a minotaur "I believe these are yours."

Reaching under the seat of her litter, one of the creatures pulled out a bow and quiver and tossed them on the ground. Jadis then lifted his two knives, that strange, mysterious smile on her face once more, and threw them at his feet, the blades piercing deeply into the dirt.

"A battle is coming, _princeling_," she said. "If we are to repeat history, then it is only right that we do so properly."

"You live in dreams of the past," Legolas replied coldly, making no move to retrieve his weapons. "This time, I will do what my grandfather failed to do – I _will_ kill you."

She sneered slightly. "You will _try_."

Pointedly, she turned her attention back to Aslan. "How do I know your promise will be kept?"

Aslan roared, and Jadis sat quickly down on her litter, clearly startled. The soldiers cheered, laughed, and jeered, as she was carried out of camp. They swarmed around the four children, congratulating them and pounding Edmund on the back. It seemed that despite the young boy's betrayal, the Narnian's were quite willing to forgive and forget.

Despite the sudden, festive spirit, Legolas felt strangely subdued, as he leaned down and collected his weapons. He strapped on his quiver and slung on his bow, running his fingers gently over the wood, before tenderly lifting his knives from the ground. The blades, clean and unsullied, reflected the blue sky above, yet Legolas felt as if the brightness was mocking, false.

With a sigh, he slid the knives into their sheaths, glad to feel the familiar weight of his weapons once more. He glanced over at Aslan, who turned and walked slowly back into his tent as though he carried a heavy burden – one that made each step agonizing.

Legolas stared after him, all sound around him seeming almost muted in his ears, and wondered.

o-0-o-0-o

**Translations:**

_Eru, tirith mín megil – _Eru (aka Aslan), guard our sword(s)

**A/N: **Hey, everyone! Sorry for taking so long to update! Hope you all enjoyed the chapter and that it wasn't too slow. peeks through fingers at Kei Anyways, I have a feeling like I have something else to say, but now I can't remember.

Well, thanks once more for all those encouraging and heartening reviews! Please feel free to let me know what you think of this chapter and on any ways I can improve!

Blessings! –Ila


	8. Fallen

**Warning: **I am hereby raising the rating to T. This chapter includes blood and character death. -laughs evilly- I won't say who…

**A/N: **Thanks to the following reviewers who brighten my life with their inspiring reviews:

_**Peregrin Ionad, Mini Librarian, trecebo, Queen Su**_, _**FireChildSlytherin5, Calenlass Greenleaf1, lacey, Jimmy Candlestick, Inwe Nolatari, aisarikka, Calathiel of Mirkwood, SeventhSpanishAngel, Itar94, Dearborn, szepilona10, Jiko Hitasura, Spirit HellFire, MakruTree, Aya-Shoru, knighted lioness, Kimsa Ki-Lurria, Grace, Starset, fluffys-sidekick, JackGirl, The Halfling of the Shire, artistic sprite, BrokenAvenger21, r2d2cool, Equestriad, **_and _**King Caspian the Seafarer. **_

Thank you so much, everyone! -hugs-

Well… I just have one last thing to say: I am extremely nervous about this chapter. I dearly hope you all like it! – Ila

**Chapter Eight: Fallen**

A few hours after the Witch had left, the brightness of the day gave way to the dusk of eventide. Torches were lit around the camp, the flames dancing their savage dance, as the preparations for the morrow's battle continued. The afternoon breeze had died away to stillness, and the crickets and nightingales sang in the forest, their songs rudely back-dropped by the noise of camp.

Peter, Oreius, and Aslan stood over a map on a low table, discussing the chosen battle ground and tactics. Despite Peter's lack of familiarity in such matters, Aslan and Oreius let him lead the conversation and make the final plans, adding only their advice and opinions. Legolas stood a short way behind them, listening carefully while remaining silent. Besides the Battle of the Five Armies, he had little experience in open air battles, as the wood elves preferred to fight under the protection of the trees.

Aslan turned to him abruptly. "Legolas, you have much skill in fighting and leading troops – do you have anything to want to add?"

Slightly surprised, Legolas nodded and stepped up to the table. Laying a slim finger on the map, he pointed to the cliffs above the battlefield. "You say you wish to place the archers here, so they can provide cover in case of a retreat. However, placing them there is only necessary if you are going to make a charge and leave them unprotected. Having them on the battlefield provides you with a great advantage, though you would be deprived of cover if the need to retreat arose."

"I am planning on a charge," Peter answered.

Legolas winced slightly. "Charges may be glorious to hear told in songs and tales, but if one is charging an enemy more numerous than oneself, one is at a serious disadvantage, especially when the troops lack in training."

Oreius snorted. "Everyone in this army is skilled in the weapon of their choice."

"They are skilled, yes," Legolas answered, "but they are not disciplined. Can they march, hold a line, perform maneuvers as one? No, they cannot. I would pull the centaurs off the sides and have the fauns, armed with spears and shields, form a front fifteen deep. Behind them, I would place the archers and the rest of the army. Let Jadis take the offensive charge, while you remain steady. Your archers will thin their ranks as they approach, and the scattered troops will break upon your living wall. The archers will cease their fire, and the centaurs will charge across the field before the fauns, holding a tight formation. When they break from the other side of the enemy, they will turn and charge back. In this way, you can defeat an enemy many times your size."

Peter shook his head. "We must charge and take the offensive," he argued. "The Narnians have suffered under the Witch too long – we will not merely let her attack us. We will attack her. The troops are eager for retaliation and will charge whether we order them to or not."

"I have offered my words freely," Legolas said. "Whether or not you heed them is your decision." He turned to go so they might decide without his presence, but Peter's voice stopped him.

"You never mentioned you were a prince, Legolas." The boy leaned on the table, his blue eyes focusing on the elf thoughtfully. "Why did you tell the Witch and not us?"

"I did not tell Jadis my title," Legolas replied. "How she knows it is a long story that is best left for a better time. However, I did not tell you because it was not relevant. I have no desire to be treated with the burdensome formality of royalty." He laughed slightly at Peter's bemused expression. "Trust me, getting treated as a prince or king will grow wearisome." He nodded a farewell. "I will leave you, now, to your decision."

He walked towards the woods, intent on quieting his mind with the beauty of nature and its tranquil stillness. The suffocating feeling of despair he had felt earlier, when the Witch had left, never subsided but instead grew heavier and more acute. He needed to escape the camp and the others, to spend time alone and just breathe.

He sighed quietly and leaned against a tree, trying to sort out the thoughts in his mind. The coming battle concerned him, for the scouts had brought in reports that fell creatures were flocking to the Witch in great numbers. Numbers did not normally concern him, but when one was commanding elves, one did not have to worry about lack of discipline.

He sensed a soft presence step up to his side, and he glanced over as Aslan sat down beside him.

"Child of the stars, why are you troubled?" the Lion asked.

"Clouds gather and conceal the stars," Legolas answered, glancing up at the sky. "I am troubled, as you are troubled." He unconsciously dropped his hand onto the golden mane and gently stroked it, feeling the course hair between his fingers. "Aslan," he asked, turning towards the Lion, his eyes anxious, "why are you troubled? Does it have to do with however you convinced Jadis to renounce her claim on Edmund?"

"Jadis renounced her claim," Aslan replied, his voice subdued. "There is no need for you to fear for Edmund any longer. I did all I could to save him, and she is satisfied."

For a long moment, there was quiet. Legolas stared up at the unfamiliar stars, wondering at the Lion's words. "How did you appease her?" he asked finally.

"Be still, my son," Aslan said. "All will be revealed in time. Until then, have patience, and trust in me." He sighed softy and glanced at the elf. "Show me your knives, Legolas."

Though puzzled, Legolas drew them and held them before the Lion. Aslan breathed on them, his breath fogging the gleaming blades, before looking back up at the elf.

"For many years, you have wielded these knives for your king and father with great courage. Now, wield these for Me as a pure vessel, untouched by hate and desire for vengeance." His sad golden eyes locked with Legolas' uncertain blue ones. "Use these as My blades – the blades of Eru."

A frown creased Legolas' brow as he struggled to decipher the Lion's words. "Will you not be at the battle?"

Aslan smiled sadly. "Perhaps." He stood and stretched, raking his long front claws on the dirt. "Do not stray too far from camp tonight. There may be enemies about."

"I will be fine," Legolas replied. He watched as the Lion walked slowly away, confused even more by the perplexing conversation. And the feeling of dread… it pressed down upon him even heavier than before. Shaking his head, he turned and strode off deeper into the forest.

Sleep would not come to him this night.

o-0-o-0-o-0-o-0-o-0-o

The lone howl of a wolf echoed up to the full moon, and Legolas started, glancing towards the south. The howl reached his ears once more, eerily resonating in the still darkness, and the elf pushed himself to his feet, wondering what the wolves were doing so far south of the camp.

Briefly setting a calming hand on the uneasy tree beside him, he quickly strung his bow and set off into the forest towards the sound. As he progressed, the more agitated the trees became, groaning and swaying in an invisible wind. A heavy feeling soaked the atmosphere, giving it the feeling of air just before a midsummer storm.

The feeling of desperate despair pressed upon the elf's soul until it grew to be almost a physical pain. He paused his silent advance, a frown of confusion and anguish clouding his brow, as he reached up and touched his chest. How acutely he felt this pain almost frightened him. He drew a deep breath, attempting to relax his tense frame, before continuing on.

The soft pattering of running feet interrupted the abnormal quiet of the woods, and he swung himself into a low tree branch, arrow notched in the bow. Two wolves ran into a clearing below, their dark coats making them almost invisible in the shadowy forest. They passed beneath him and stopped abruptly – one sat and panted while the other sniffed the ground and let out a low, frustrated growl.

"I'm sure I smelled something," the second said, lifting his nose from the forest floor and taking a whiff of the air. "But now it is gone."

Legolas cursed himself silently for carelessly not paying attention to the direction of the wind. Such a negligent mistake was unlike him. The strange feeling which bothered him must have affected him worse than he thought. He drew back his bow string, the sharp tip of the arrow head following the pacing of the wolf below.

The first wolf cocked its head lazily. "It was probably your imagination – you're just hungry. Now, you've made us run all this way for nothing when we could be back at the Table. It's not every day that one's biggest enemy hands himself to you on a silver platter, and we're out here looking for figments of your imagination."

"Do be quiet," the first snapped back. "I did not ask for your input." The other wolf grumbled, but he ignored it, circling the area and diligently searching for the object of his attention.

The first wolf stretched and padded mindlessly after him. "I wonder what lion tastes like."

The second sneered, shooting an annoyed look over his shoulder. "It's not like you will taste it. Shut up."

Legolas frowned, puzzling their words in his mind. _Table, enemy hands himself over, lion… _And suddenly, Jadis' renouncement, Aslan's despair, his own anxiety, and the wolves' words, all made a strange, horrible sense.

"_There is no need for you to fear for Edmund any longer. I did all I could to save him, and she is satisfied." _Aslan's words rang in his mind, and a gasp escaped him as the last piece fell into place.

The second wolf's head snapped around and, with a feral snarl, he flung himself at the tree. With a yelp of pain, he fell short, an arrow lodged in his throat. The first wolf ran for the trees in panic, but the bow sang again, dropping him to the ground.

Legolas sprang down from the branch and blindly ran the direction the wolves had come, not even bothering to retrieve his arrows. His heart pounded with fear and confusion, and he silently begged for his conclusion to be wrong. The flickering light of torches shone through the woods before him, and he exited the trees, his breath catching in his throat.

A large assembly of fell creatures was gathered before him, encircling a stone table. Jadis, dressed in black, stood on the stone, her expression triumphant and a dagger clasped in her hands. A sense of evil and wicked intent, almost alive in its fullness, hung over the gathering, almost suffocating a single drop of light.

_Aslan…_

The noble Lion made his way slowly up towards the table, and the creatures parted before him, fear on their faces even while they jeered and screeched. Aslan paused, and a slight sneer chased its way across the Witch's face.

"Behold." Her voice dripped with mocking scorn. "The great Lion." Her minions laughed and hooted, taunting their victim.

The minotaur general strode forward, battle axe in hand, and stopped beside the Lion, jabbing him lightly in the neck with the hilt of the axe. The noisy mob stirred restlessly, anticipating what was to come.

Aslan snarled softly but made no move to defend himself.

The minotaur looked back at Jadis, who gave him a minute nod. Turning swiftly back towards the Lion, he grabbed both ends of his axe hilt and smashed the shaft into the side of Aslan's head, knocking him to the ground.

Aslan's growl of pain mixed with a cry of anger, and a dark arrow slammed into the minotaur's shoulder, causing the creature to stagger backwards.

Legolas stood at the fringe of the crowd, eyes flashing with a dangerous, desperate light, with a second arrow in the string and aimed at Jadis' heart. The crowd fell silent, and all turned to face the elf, angry at their 'play' being interrupted.

Jadis merely smiled, unperturbed by the elvish arrow pointed her way. "Legolas, dear, I thought you might join us. Now, will you come watch, or are you intent on stopping me and destroying this world?"

"Perhaps," Legolas returned through clenched teeth, "I'm only intent on killing you." The bow string twanged as the arrow was released.

Jadis smirked. Leaning slightly to the side, she brought up the dagger in a smooth motion, batting the arrow gracefully away. She straightened, turning her black gaze back on the elf.

"Are you quite finished, Thranduilion?" she asked. "Or will you waste your entire quiver on me?"

Legolas hesitated, his eyes tormented and torn with indecision, and glanced at Aslan. The Lion had made no move to rise but remained where He had fallen. However, He turned his gaze on the elf, his golden eyes sorrowful.

"_My child," _Aslan's voice rang in Legolas' mind, _"do you not trust me?" _

Legolas stepped back, stricken. _"I cannot lose You," _was his desperate reply. He dropped his eyes, unable to stand the Lion's searching look, and glanced up at Jadis. "Let Him go – take me instead."

She laughed. "Oh, so self-sacrificing! A delightful offer to be sure, princeling, but I'm afraid I must refuse. As much as I long to feel your blood on my hands and watch your life drain away, I desire to see the same of the Lion even more." Her lips turned upwards cruelly. "Besides, why should I trade, when you are both in my power as well." She flicked her hand at the fell creatures around the elf. "Take him."

The creatures surged forward confidently, but Legolas held his ground, firing off five arrows in as many seconds. Seeing the death of their comrades only enraged the attackers, and Legolas unstrung his bow in a single movement and slid it into his quiver.

Grasping his knives, he knocked aside the first unlucky creature's sword, stabbing it with his second knife. Ducking another swing, he slashed a knife across a minotaur's stomach while blocking a blow with the other. He tried to forced himself to stop thinking and let his muscles take over, perform the positions ingrained in them, but his anger refused to die, edging his moves with recklessness. Blocking a hard frontal blow with the flat of one blade, he stabbed blindly behind him with the second, feeling it strike flesh.

Abruptly, something pricked his neck, and dizziness slammed into him with force. He staggered and dropped one of the knives, swinging a wide arch with the other to keep the creatures at bay as he felt his neck. A small dart was imbedded in his skin, and he jerked it out and threw it in the face of an ogre. The dart, no more than an inch in length, struck the being in the cheek, and it fell limply down, clearly unconscious.

Lightheadedness hit him again, the world spun, and he fell to his knees, lashing out and downing another enemy. His head pounded viciously, and he was only dimly aware that the creatures had pulled back and watched him silently out of range of his knives.

Bitterness, anger, and defeat mixed into a confused mélange within him. Bitterness at his helplessness, anger at the cruelty and mockery of Jadis, and defeat, for he had failed Aslan, himself, and Narnia. The last thought surprised him. Since when had he cared about Narnia or its people? The answer came easily: Since they gave their lives for him, saved him from the Witch's camp, welcomed him into their world, and treated him as a friend. And now he was letting their leader and only hope for victory become a victim of Jadis' bloodlust.

_This is not your fault, _something within him whispered. _This was Aslan's choice. Do not take the weight of another's decisions onto your shoulders._

He wished to deny the truth of that voice, claim that it should be him dying for Edmund, not Aslan, not Eru Ilúvatar. What would happen when the Creator of worlds died? He shuddered at the thought.

Hands grabbed his arms, twisting them behind his back and jerking him to his feet. He sagged between the minotaurs who held him up, the dart's toxins causing an unnatural lethargy to course through his frame.

They drug him somewhere – his eyes refused to focus. Everything swam before him, and the shadows and flames seemed to swirl together in mystifying patterns. His mind seemed to shut down, drifting aimlessly in a semi-conscious daze.

o-0-o-0-o-0-o-0-o-0-o

Cold, yet gentle fingers raised his chin, and a chill rushed through him, sweeping the sluggishness away. He blinked to find himself staring into a pair of malicious green eyes. He jerked backwards, startled, only to be stopped by the minotaurs' powerful grips on his arms.

Jadis laughed softly. "Fully awake now? Good." Her lips twisted into a sneer. "You are just in time to watch your beloved Lion _die_."

Legolas glanced at the Stone Table and bit the inside of his lip to hold in the utter fury which coursed through him. Aslan lay on his side on the table's hard surface, his muzzle and paws bound tightly with thick, coarse, black rope. His magnificent mane was gone, cut away, with only jagged, bloody strands remaining.

"Valar curse you," Legolas said, his voice low but deadly.

Jadis smiled frostily. "If I can kill Aslan, why should I fear the Valar?" She turned her back on Legolas and strode back up the steps to the table, stopping to tower over the prone form of the Lion. The crowd of creatures swayed with excitement, screaming for the Lion's blood.

The Witch threw out her arm, and the clamor abruptly morphed into an unnatural calm.. A hag abruptly squawked and tapped the end of its staff against the ground. The other hags joined the first, rhythmically banging the ends of their staffs on the stone.

Jadis let her hand fall slowly to her side, and a din rose from the assembly once more. Various creatures screeched, shouted, and banged their weapons on the ground as the wolves howled upwards at the full moon which, untarnished by the evil below, cut its path of light through the darkness.

Legolas bristled as Jadis knelt by Aslan's side and ran her hand through what little remained of His mane, her apparently tender touch mocking and abhorrent. Aslan seemed to flinch but did not try to struggle against her tainted hand.

"You know, Aslan," her words were soft and almost indiscernible over the racket of the gathering, but Legolas heard each one with painful clarity, "I'm a little disappointed in you. Did you honestly think that by all this you could save the human traitor? You are giving me your life and saving no one." She chuckled, a sneer forming on her face. "So much for _love_."

She pushed herself to her feet and turned to the crowd. "Tonight," she said, "the Deep Magic will be appeased!"

The creatures cheered and screamed their approval, and the hags increased the tempo of their tapping.

"But tomorrow," she cried, a wicked smile of excitement playing on her lips, "we shall take Narnia forever!"

Though already loud, the din of the spectators increased tenfold, echoing about the clearing and shaking the trees to their very roots. Legolas strained briefly and vainly against the minotaurs' hold, his heart aching with dread at what was to come. Oh, for a bow, arrow, and free hands, that he might plant a shaft in that heart of evil. But that was not to be.

Jadis turned her attention back to Aslan, her eyes dilated with an insatiable lust for blood. "In that knowledge, despair…" she let the sentence hang, relishing her moment of power before lifting the dagger. "And _die_!"

She plunged the dagger downward, sinking it deeply into the Lion's side. The blade easily pierced through flesh and bone before lodging itself securely in His heart. A small spasm s lan's body, His eyes widening with agony before glassing over and sinking closed.

Legolas ceased his useless struggles as the Lion exhaled His last breath, his mind and heart rebelling and screaming in denial of the scene before him. But he knew and forced himself to believe the truth. It was over. Aslan – Eru Ilúvatar, the Creator of Middle-earth – was dead.

The fury and despair died from his face, leaving blank nothingness in their wake. The light in his eyes vanished, replaced by an unmerciful coldness, and the cries of disbelief and horror silenced themselves in his mind to be supplanted by a burning hatred.

Jadis ran her eyes over the Lion's motionless form before looking back up at her minions. "The Great Cat is _dead_!" she shouted, throwing out her hands in exultation. As the group screamed with excitement and twisted ecstasy, she closed her eyes for a brief moment, as though relieved that the deed was done. She glanced at a minotaur. "General, prepare your troops for battle." She sent a distasteful look at the lifeless body beneath her and muttered, "However short it may be."

With a swift jerk, she pulled the knife from the Lion's side and stepped down off the table before Legolas. Reaching forward, she fingered a silky strand of his hair. "It really is a pity to end it here, like this."

He refused to degrade himself by cringing from her touch but stared at her through icy blue eyes, hate rushing through his veins. He could see the dagger in her hands still dripping with the blood of Aslan. Her eyes shone, shining with a bloodlust which was no longer focused on the Lion but on him.

_You are going to die…_

He knew.

She stepped closer to him, her breath warm on his cheek. "If only I had more time. Killing you like this is so…dull."

He flinched.

The side of her mouth curved up in a sardonic smile, and her hand flicked in a flash of black.

Cold, unfeeling steel ripped into his side, and all other feelings were washed out in a flood of complete and utter anguish. He gasped and staggered, as she pushed the dagger in until the hilt pressed against his side. Pain clouded all thoughts from his mind, and his vision hazed.

Nothing was left but pain, pain, pain, and… hate.

He forced his eyes back open, meeting her gleeful green ones.

That cruel smirk still resided on her face, and she leaned in to whisper in his ear. "Yet," her mocking voice echoed in his mind, "killing you this way also holds a certain appeal." She twisted the dagger.

He jerked reflexively, a soft cry escaping him.

She released the dagger and placed her hand on his side, soaking it with his blood. "Because of your weak mercy, Oropher, the son of your son now dies," she murmured. She stepped away and flicked her hand at the creatures holding him up.

The powerful arms holding him upright released him, and he fell to his knees, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. One hand reached up and touched the dagger. His eyes glazed, and he collapsed onto the cold stone beneath him.

A foot found his chest and rolled him roughly onto his back. "Farewell, Thranduilion. I dearly hope you can find your way to the hall of Mandos from here."

He made no reply – he had none. Each reluctant breath sent stabbing pains through him; he coughed weakly and tasted blood. The warm, crimson liquid spilled from his side, darkening the stones and his tunic black. Dimly, he heard the Witch's voice and the confusing noise around him grew less. The fell army was leaving.

The night grew still, cold. He shuddered from the pain and the sudden chill. Another cough racked his frame, and he choked on the blood, moaning softly. He stopped fighting against the blade in his side and allowed his mind to wander to thoughts of home and family, as he lay quietly and waited for the inevitable.

A tentative hand brushed against his forehead, and he shied away, startled out of his dreamlike state. But the hand was not _hers _for it was not cold but warm and… small. He strained to open his eyes, but even that slightest movement caused fresh pain to tear through him.

"Legolas?" a voice said tearfully.

He forcing his eyes, glassy with pain and uncertainty, open to see brown eyes sparkling with moisture swim into focus before him. "Lucy?" The word, mangled but recognizable, forced itself from his lips before another coughing spasm seized him. It left him exhausted, almost too weak to draw another breath.

When he opened his eyes once more, the young girl held the cordial, which she always carried on her belt, above his lips. "This will make you well," she said, her voice quavering.

He turned his face away, letting his weary eyes slide shut. "Dagger," he forced out. "You… must… remove it."

"Susan!" Lucy's voice rose in panic.

"Shh!" the older girl's voice was composed but tremulous. "Stay calm."

He felt hands grip the hilt, and he winced. The hands disappeared. "Ú, caro… ha," he gasped, slipping into Sindarin. "Do it quickly."

The hands returned to the hilt and tightened around it once more, trembling there for an agonizing second that seemed to last forever. And in one, swift movement, the dagger was jerked free.

Legolas' body convulsed reflexively as the invading steel was ejected, and agony screamed through his mind. Whether he also cried out or not, he did not know, for he welcomed the unfeeling blackness which flowed over him, covering him with a shroud of nothingness.

o-0-o-0-o

**Translations: **

_Ú, caro ha – _No, do it

**A/N: **-peeks nervously out from behind a tree- There's the chapter that answers all the questions people have been asking. Well… not _all _the answers. Some answers you won't figure out until the next chapter – whether or not Legolas will live, for example. -smiles sadistically-

Anyway, to those reading Fateful Knowledge, I've kind of put that on an unofficial hiatus until I finish this story. Sorry about that, but I just can't split my attention between two stories and my book anymore. -grins sheepishly- I've never been too good at multitasking…

I've created a poll in my bio about future stories I'm interested in writing after I'm done with Fateful Knowledge and Blades of Eru. I have put a sequel to Blades that covers Prince Caspian as a choice just to see the response it gets. If anyone would like to vote, I'd be glad to know what people want. :-)

Anyway, thanks again to everyone who reviewed on the last chapter! Please, whether you liked this chapter or not, leave me a review with any thoughts, suggestions, or comments you may have. Thanks a ton!

Blessings! – Ila


	9. A Matter of Trust

**A/N: **Thanks to Electrum for allowing me to borrow the name she created for Peter's unicorn, Flisk. If you love Narnia, read her stories! They are amazing!

Thank you to everyone who reviewed! If I tried to put up all your names like usual, I'm afraid it would take up a page by itself. You guys are much more awesome than this procrastinating author deserves! I guess this ninth chapter is also a celebration of the fact that this story has received over 10,000 hits. -cheers- Thank you, danke, merci, hannon le!!

A special thank you to all my anonymous reviews to whom I couldn't send review replies! Now, on with the story! – Ila

**A Matter of Trust**

Consciousness returned with shocking abruptness, and his blue eyes flew open, a gasp of breath escaping him, a sweet taste lingering strangely on his tongue. For a long moment, his thoughts spun wildly out of control, as he struggled to decipher what was happening. His eyes slowly focused to see two worried faces framed by brown hair staring down at him.

Lucy promptly burst into tears, hugging the bottle of cordial tightly to her chest. "It worked, it really worked."

Legolas blinked the haziness from his eyes and slowly pushed himself into a sitting position, wondering at the lack of pain in his side. He pulled up the edge of his blood soaked tunic and gazed wordlessly at the healed wound. The skin had knit neatly back together, and only a faint white scar remained. He glanced at the dagger which lay a short distance away, the blade glistening with his blood in the moonlight, his mind still grappling with the fact that he yet lived. The dagger had clearly punctured one of his lungs, and only Eru knew what else, yet he was healed and had no difficulty breathing.

He shook his head slightly and glanced over at Susan and Lucy. "Thank you," he said quietly.

Susan nodded, her eyes damp and cheeks streaked with tears, and handed him his weapons. "I found them in the grass," she said simply. "We saw everything that happened." She stood and turned away, gazing into the darkness at the Stone Table, her shoulders slumping. Lucy was hauling herself up onto the table, trying to get as close to Aslan's body as possible.

Legolas pushed himself to his feet, refusing to let his gaze focus on the Lion's body. He no longer felt the sorrow or rage as he had earlier but only a numb detachment. Buckling on his quiver, he slid his knives into their sheaths, not even bothering with cleaning them.

"We should head back to camp," he said, his tone rather dull.

Susan hesitated, but Lucy buried her face in the remains of Aslan's mane. "No!" her small voice was muffled by the fur yet clearly indignant. "I won't leave Him here alone!"

"It's too dangerous for you to remain," Legolas replied with a sigh, unsure on how to convince the heartbroken, stubborn, young girl.

Lucy shook her head, not lifting her face from the mane. "Aslan won't let anything hurt us."

Legolas stared at her for a moment, not exactly sure how to respond. "Lucy, He's dead."

She finally sat up and turned her reproving, tear-streaked face toward him. A small, pale hand reached up and touched her chest. "He's still with me in my heart."

"…_I've always been with you in your heart, and I always will be…."_

"_Nothing happens without a reason…."_

Legolas turned swiftly away, hiding the sudden anguish at the memories Lucy's simple words inspired. He shut his eyes tightly, and his clenched fists trembled.

"…_do you not trust Me?"_

With a soft moan, he stood frozen as the question tore him apart. He had failed in Aslan's trust, rushing in and foolishly thinking he could alter the plans of Eru. Aslan had trusted him, and he had broken that trust. All his disobedience had earned was pain, and nothing had been changed.

He gritted his teeth angrily. He couldn't have just stood by and done nothing. That was impossible! Aslan had asked the impossible! His allegiance belonged to the Lion, and he would protect those whom he followed, orders or no orders.

_Perhaps, He only wanted you to have faith, _a voice whispered within.

Heatedly, he shoved the thought aside. He had done what he thought was right.

_But was it?_

Forcing his troubling thoughts away, he turned back towards Susan. "I'm going to join your brothers. Will you come?" The words were slightly more harsh than he intended, but the girl didn't seem to notice.

Susan glanced at Lucy, her brow furrowed. "No," she said at last, quietly. "We will stay. I have my bow if anything tries to attack us."

With a swift nod, Legolas turned and vanished into the welcoming darkness of the trees. He paused and looked over his shoulder, his eyes staring sightlessly at the motionless, golden form. He realized he was trembling and laid a hand on the bark of a tree, welcoming the sting sensation as the edges of the wood indented into his palm.

"_Goheno nin, Eru,_" he whispered. "I shall wield Your blades and avenge your blood."

o-0-o-0-o-0-o-0-o

Dawn was spreading its pastels across the waning indigo when Legolas reached the bustling camp. He slipped past the sentries with ease and made his way to his tent, flitting from shadow to shadow and avoiding contact.

He pushed past the flap of his tent and entered, surprised to see Edmund sitting on the cot. The young boy was attired in armor and holding his helm under his arm, a sword strapped to his belt. He started and looked up as Legolas entered, hastily running his forearm across his dark eyes.

His eyes widened as he focused on the elf's appearance, disheveled even in the dim morning light. However, he asked no questions. "I brought armor that the smiths made you," he said, schooling his face to calmness with frightening quickness. "I also brought a fresh set of clothing the seamstresses made. I think you need it," he added.

Legolas nodded his thanks. "You know?" he asked quietly.

Edmund dropped his gaze to the floor. "A dryad came and told Peter about a half hour ago," he said. Tears filled his young eyes, and though he tried to fight them back, they spilled over his cheeks regardless. "I can't believe He's gone. I don't understand why."

Sensing that Edmund's brother had not told him the whole truth of the matter, Legolas said nothing, knowing it would difficult for the boy to handle. Instead, he placed a hand on Edmund's shoulder as a small gesture of comfort. "I do not truly understand what happened either," he said, a hollow ache permeating his heart. "But we must set our grief aside and focus on the coming battle."

Edmund nodded, sharpness returning to his brown orbs. "I'll be at my tent with Peter and Oreius," he said, seeing the opening to change the subject. "We pull out in twenty minutes."

Legolas nodded and stepped aside, letting Edmund show himself out. Spotting a wash basin full of fresh water in the corner of the tent, he cleaned up the best he could, attempting to get rid of all the drying blood, both his own and his enemies. He changed into the fresh set of clothing laid out for him, pleased to see the familiar greens and browns, as the seamstress had based it off his old outfit.

The armor prepared for him was fashioned mostly of leather, though the arm guards and shoulder pauldrons were steel plated. A mail shirt had also been provided, and he slipped it on over his tunic, the rings clinking gently. Over the mail, he pulled on a leather jerkin and swiftly closed the silver clasps. A sword, complete with a sheath and sword belt, was also present, and, after a moment of hesitation, he buckled it on.

After giving his arrows a cursory inspection to make sure none were broken, he strapped on his quiver, experimentally reaching back and grabbing an arrow. To his relief, the leather responded well to the movement. Wearing this much armor was a new experience for him as the Silven elves only wore leather armor when they bothered wearing any armor at all.

He gently pulled his knives from their sheaths, staring at the blades sightlessly, Aslan's words echoing in his mind. _Wield these blades for me... _Not his face but the Lion's reflected back at him from around the streaks of blood. He glanced away, feeling inexplicitly guilty, but he pushed away the feeling, telling himself he did all he could. Something within persisted that was exactly why he was feeling guilty, but he ignored it.

Quickly cleaning his knives, he sheathed them and exited his tent and strode toward Peter and Edmund's amid the frenzy of the camp, feeling strangely weighted down by both his sorrow and the armor. The feeling of the sword bumping gently against his leg as he walked was comforting but foreign, as it had been many years since he had fought with a sword. Nevertheless, he was glad for the distraction, letting his mind dredge up the half forgotten instructions from his old sword's master.

Dodging a faun carrying an armful of weapons, he was startled out of his thoughts as he came face to face with Leidara. She seemed unusually subdued. The ever-present sparkle of mischief was gone from her eyes, replaced by grief and concern. Clearly, the news of Aslan's death had spread quickly throughout the camp.

"Legolas," she said, brightening slightly at the sight of him, "I'm glad you're alright. After I heard what… happened last night, I went to your tent, and you were gone. I feared you had done something foolish."

"I am fine," Legolas answered, sending her a strained smile. He had no inclination to tell her what honestly happened. Questions were in her eyes, however, and he quickly changed the subject. "I've meant to ask you something," he said. "Peter has provided me with a non-talking horse to ride into battle, but I wanted to know if you would allow me to ride you instead."

Leidara's eyes shone with sudden excitement. "Really?" she cried. "Oh, yes!"

Legolas turned and continued on his way. "Come, then. We can discuss this further in a moment."

With Leidara walking contented by his side, he arrived at Peter's tent. The young leader of the army was seated on his unicorn, conferring with Oreius. He was attired completely in armor, the faceplate of his helm flipped up to reveal his tense but determined countenance. Grief which he worked desperately to keep off his face ran rampant in his eyes, and Legolas felt a sudden rush of pity for him. No one should have to shoulder so much responsibility at such a young age.

Springing up on Leidara, he softly instructed her in the basics. "When I touch your flank with my left heel, you go right and vice versa. The firmer the pressure, the sharper I want you to turn. When I touch you with both my heels, it is the signal to quicken your pace. When I lean back, it is the signal to slow. When I shift my weight back, it is the signal to stop. Understand?"

Her eyes flicked back thoughtfully. "I believe so."

"Our safety in battle depends on how quickly you respond to my commands," Legolas said. "You must trust me, and obey what I tell you unless you absolutely know or see something I do not. We are friends and equals, but on the battlefield, you must follow my lead."

She nodded solemnly. "I understand."

He cued her gently and she trotted over to Peter's side as he and Oreius broke apart, evidently finished with their discussion.

Peter glanced over the elf and nodded a greeting, clearly glad to see him despite their disagreement over the battle plans the night before. "Will you ride with me, Legolas?" A wane smile crossed his face but did not reach his eyes. "I'll need all the help I can get."

Legolas cocked an eyebrow at him. "Help to ride in all that armor or help to lead the battle?"

Peter laughed softly. "Both, I suppose. I rode only a few times back in Finchley and definitely never in armor. I feel as though the weight will drag me off of Flisk." He entwined his left gauntlet in the unicorn's mane.

Flisk glanced back at his rider reprovingly. "I would never let that happen, Your Majesty."

"I know," Peter agreed. "It's just my nervousness."

"You shall do fine," Legolas said, his meaning covering both riding and the battle. He hesitated. "Aslan would not have chosen you if He did not think you could succeed." His words, rigidly controlled as they were to hide his emotion, seemed to comfort the boy.

Peter nodded with renewed determination and cued Flisk forward. "Let's go."

o-0-o-0-o-0-o-0-o

The plains of Beruna could not have been better for a battle. The short, windblown grass waved lazily under the shadow of the snow capped mountains in the distance, the mountains' jagged peaks towering above in the cloudless blue sky. The rocky cliff behind the army provided a fall back point and excellent positioning for the archers. A short way behind the top of the cliff, the griffins had gathered a large selection of rocks to drop on the enemy from above, one of Peter's more brilliant ideas.

Legolas had to admit the boy was intelligent, even though he was going to charge the enemy head on. He had a plan of retreat with a series of fall back points, something overlooked by many military leaders. Even so, Legolas still felt a foreboding fall upon him. He did not deny he felt slightly afraid, as skill did always ensure one's survival in battle.

However, a cold fire stirred within him, and he knew that a confrontation between himself and Jadis was bound to happen. He dreaded the thought, the ghostly feeling of the dagger sinking into him haunting him, yet he also felt a stirring of eagerness for the fight.

For every spilled drop of Aslan's blood, she would pay with her own.

While Peter and Oreius organized the front line, Legolas saw to the archers with Edmund, staggering them along the rim of the cliff. His face was a mask, attempting to hide the confused emotions roaring within, as he issued orders, his feelings escaping in the brittle harshness of his tone.

When the last archer was in place, he turned to head back down to the plains where Leidara waited, but Edmund's voice stopped him.

"Legolas, I know how you feel."

The boy was too sharp, Legolas decided with irritation, turning back to face him. "Truly?" His tone voiced his doubt.

Edmund shrugged. "She tricked me, even though I let her, and now she killed Aslan. I guess it's not really necessary for me to tell you that I hate her and would gladly kill her if I got the chance."

"Your point?"

Edmund shifted uncomfortably. "Oreius told us how dangerous it is to fight when controlled by emotion. I suppose you already know that, but I…." he faltered. "Just don't get yourself killed, and keep an eye on Peter, would you?"

Legolas' irritation melted away, and he sighed. "You speak truthfully, Edmund. Thank you for your words." He managed a small smile. "Don't worry about Peter. With Oreius beside him, he'll be lucky if anything gets within striking range. I'll make sure to watch his back, however." He bowed slightly to the boy. "_Navaer_ _a galu_."

Edmund nodded wordlessly in reply, understanding and appreciating the meaning of the words though not the words themselves.

Legolas made his way quickly down around the cliff and mounted Leidara, trotting over to take his place beside Peter. The older boy sat upon Flisk on a small knoll rising up from the grass, Oreius beside him, staring intensely across the plain as if his gaze alone would cause the enemy to appear.

A shrill cry from above jerked their eyes upward as a griffin soared over them, circling around and landing besides Legolas. The creature glanced over at Peter. "They come, Your Highness, in numbers and weapons far greater than our own." He gave his report breathlessly, fear in his eyes.

"Numbers do not win a battle," Oreius fired in return, and Leidara took a step back, already tense and seeming to dislike being between the wrath of the general and its intended target. Legolas laid a placating hand on her neck but said nothing.

"No," Peter's quiet words stopped Oreius from commenting further, "but I bet they help."

A horn rang out, harsh and discordant, and the Witch's minotaur general appeared over a rise in the grass, bellowing out his challenge. The enemy swarmed up onto the plain, a mismatched but deadly rabble. Two white bears appeared pulling a chariot, and Legolas felt his heart clench with hatred and fury.

Jadis…

Even at the great distance, he could see the confident sneer on her face, as she surveyed the much smaller army standing against her, her wand clasped loosely in her hand. Her army gathered on either side of her, and Legolas could tell that it numbered at least twice as many as that of Aslan's army, and scores of the fell army were yet down a gentle slope and beyond his sight.

For a long moment, there was silence as good and evil stared at each other, one with determination and the other with hate. Then, the moment was broken as Peter drew his sword and held it before him, the fair sound of trumpets resounding in the air. The Narnians gave a mighty cheer and stepped forward, closing the front lines and preparing for a charge.

The enemy shouted a defiance of its own and poured forward as a black river, defiling the grass with its darkness. No fell beast paid any mind to the matter of formation, but each rushed ahead, desiring to taste the blood of those who stood against them.

Peter held his sword steadily and did not move, though a ripple of dismay ran through the ranks of soldiers, all his nervousness replaced by icy resolve. Abruptly, he flicked his sword forward, and the forms of hundreds of griffins darkened the sky, calls, shrieks, and screeches filling the air. The griffin besides Legolas took to the air with a loud shriek of his own, joining his companions in the wind.

The charge of the enemy faltered slightly as the creatures glanced up to see a rain of rocks descending upon them. The few archers sent hurried arrows into the sky, an occasional lucky shaft hurtling griffins from the air, their falling bodies doing almost as much devastation as the rocks. However, though scattered, the enemy pressed on, drawing nearer to their prey with each footfall.

Peter suddenly glanced at Oreius. "Are you with me?"

Oreius looked over at him, seeming surprised he'd even asked such a question. "To the death."

Peter switched his gaze to Legolas. "And you?"

Leidara snorted at Oreius' pessimism. "We're with you," she answered for both of them as Legolas strung his bow. "Hopefully not to the death, but yes."

A hint of a smile dashed across Peter's face before vanishing into a mask of stoicism. Facing the Witch's army, he held his sword aloft. "For Narnia and for Aslan!" he cried, and Flisk reared with excitement.

"For Aslan!" the army echoed the cry and followed eagerly as Flisk and Oreius surged forward. Leidara sprang onward as well, needing no cue.

Legolas grasped his bow, his hands knowing every inch of the smooth wood, but finding no comfort there. A deep feeling of dread washed over him as the wind whipped past, but determination and anger supplanted it. He would meet Jadis, and only one of them would emerge alive. She would get the fight she wanted, by Elbereth, she would get it.

_Forward unto victory. _He smirked in a self-deprecating way. _Or, perhaps, death?_

o-0-o-0-o

**Translations:**

_Goheno nin, Eru – _Forgive me, Eru

_Navaer a galu – _Farewell and good luck

**A/N: **I know, I know… I'm dragging this out. This chapter didn't have the 'big climactic duel.' I just needed to try and make some sense out of Legolas' feelings and emotions – only Aslan knows how badly they're tangled at the moment.

Anyway, I wanted to apologize for how long it's taken me to update. I've been distracted, and school's started, and -sighs-…. I'll just stop making excuses. The next chapter's pretty much written, so it won't take as long to update, I promise. At the most, it will be a week. :-D

Anyway, about the sequel. I've officially decided to do one which will follow the _Prince Caspian_ movie verse. I will start it the moment the movie comes out on DVD here in the U.S. on December 2nd (at least, I will try to start it then). I want all of your help to decide on the LotRs cast, so I've made a new poll which is located in my bio. Please let me know which LotRs character/characters you want to see in the sequel. If anyone has ideas not on the poll, feel free to PM me. Thanks!

-looks mournfully at readers- I know I've been a naughty author, not updating fast after leaving you with such a cliff hanger, but will you leave a review for me? I'd love to hear your comments, suggestions, or thoughts. They mean so much to me!

Blessings! – Ila


	10. Forsaken Vengeance

**A/N: **Hey, everyone! Sorry I'm late! My excuse is that I got the new SW game The Force Unleashed. :-D Awesome game! Just to note, the name Flisk belongs to Electrum.

Thanks a lot to everyone who reviewed! I really appreciate it! You guys rock!

Anyway, here's the next chapter. :-)

**Forsaken Vengeance **

"Try to keep near Flisk," Legolas whispered in Leidara's ear as she paced herself next to the unicorn. She didn't answer, but her left ear flicked back, and he knew she'd heard.

Pulling an arrow from his quiver, Legolas took a deep breath, forcing himself to relax, and fired, grateful for Leidara's smooth stride. A minotaur snapped over backwards, and he swiftly notched another arrow, conscious of the rapidly closing distance between the two armies. As the great cats of each party pulled ahead of the charging lines, Legolas slung his bow over his shoulder and drew the sword, knowing its length would avail him better on horseback than his knives.

Moments later, the armies met, and the crunching sound of armor giving way under steel, the shouts of combatants, and the screams of the wounded rose in a confusing blend that threatened to drown all sanity. Legolas shut it out with proficiency born from practice, blocking the blade of some unidentified creature and lashing out with a vicious backhand swing which nearly decapitated it.

Leidara felt tense beneath him, yet she doggedly held her place beside Flisk. Pleased with her nerves, Legolas removed all but a small portion of his attention from her and focused on the battle around them, his sword flashing against the bright sun as he attacked all who came into his reach. Fighting at such a fast canter was new and disorientating to him, the speed and wind noise dulling his senses, and he was glad when Peter gradually slowed to a stop as the enemy became too thick penetrate.

The centaurs and fauns broke their formation, and the fighting began in earnest, each to his own.

Legolas, focused on protecting both himself and Leidara from the swarming mass of enemies, trusted the horse to keep them both near Peter. Temporarily cutting a clear swath around himself, Legolas looked over to see the boy, visor now down, fighting with a deadly mercilessness in the lethal match of kill or be killed.

To Legolas' surprise, they seemed to be actually making some headway into the lines of the enemy, the soldiers of Narnia emboldened by their furious desire to revenge Aslan's death. The ranks of the fell beasts were thinning, and some of the more cowardly ones were already fleeing.

Leidara suddenly jumped to the side with a shrill whinny of warning as an ogre and minotaur descended on them from the side. Cursing himself for loosing focus, Legolas brushed aside the scimitar of the minotaur and slashed the creature across the throat.

The whistling of steel traveling through air alerted him, and he swung his sword around to block the ogre's rough sword. Wincing as the shock of the collision traveled up his arm, he kicked out and sent the ogre stumbling backward. In a smooth movement, Legolas sheathed his sword, grabbed his bow and placed a shaft between the creature's eyes.

Glancing up, he saw Jadis signal for the advance of the second of wave of fell beasts. Spinning Leidara around, he dashed though the enemies to Peter's side.

"We need to pull back, or they will overrun us," he called over the clamor of battle.

"Not yet," Peter returned, his tone breathless. "Ed's loosing the Phoenix."

As if his words were prophetic, a loud screech pierced the mayhem. Legolas looked up to see a bird burst into flame, circling around and shooting between them and the enemy reinforcements, lighting the grass in a blazing inferno. The onslaught of fell beasts faltered upon approaching the veil of fire, and the Narnians cheered.

"We need to pull back while they are unable to advance," Legolas said tightly, knowing the battle was far from finished. "They will find a way around." Leidara shifted uneasily beneath him.

Peter wordlessly pushed up his visor, his eyes focused on something beyond the flames.

Legolas glanced over, throwing up his hand to shield eyes, as an explosion of blue light shook the ground, swallowing and dousing the wall of fire. Jadis, proud and untouched by the flames, stood dispassionately in her chariot as she advanced through the smoke, her dark eyes bright with unreleased power.

Her lackeys charged ahead of her, and the Narnians, shaken by the loss of their recent triumph, began to flee. Peter sat on Flisk as though frozen, staring at the Witch with anger and frustration in his eyes. He would eventually learn, Legolas thought wearily, that battles rarely went as planned.

"Peter," he said urgently, his voice shaking the young man free from his frozen indecision, "call the retreat."

Squaring his jaw, Peter gave a single sharp nod and spun Flisk around. "Fall back!" he shouted. "Draw them to the rocks!"

A horn blew the signal to withdraw, and the Narnians disengaged and fled in disarray. Knocking his visor down, Peter cued Flisk forward and, with Legolas and Leidara on one side and Oreius on the other, brought up to the rear of the retreat. The enemy poured after them, either the scent of victory or their fear of the Witch prodding them on.

Legolas drew an arrow and twisted around, fired into the crowded mass of fell beasts behind them as they entered a small gulley. Abruptly, the air was filled with the sound of arrows, the wind whistling through the feathers, and the front line of the enemy stumbled and keeled over. However, more fell beasts simply jumped or trod over the bodies of their former companions and continued onwards, undeterred.

Legolas turned to fire another arrow, when he saw Flisk abruptly collapse, sending Peter flying. The boy fell hard, his helm flying. "Leidara!" Legolas cried, shifting back. She slid to a halt and spun around, cantering back to Peter's side though her instincts commanded her to flee.

Peter was slowly pushing himself to his feet, his expression pained and slightly dazed. Flisk groaned softly, struggling to stand even though an arrow was embedded deeply into his side. Legolas winced at the beautiful creature's anguish but knew there was nothing he could do. He stopped Leidara beside Peter, reaching down to take his hand. "Peter, get up behind me!"

Leidara suddenly screamed a warning, and Legolas spotted the brown streak out of the corner of his eye. He twisted aside, but it was too late. The arrow slammed into his shoulder, the force throwing him backward off Leidara. He rotated so he landed half on his side on the grass, the breath knocked out of him. Peter shouted his name.

He lay stunned for a few moments, wondering dazedly why he felt no pain from the arrow. Abruptly, he cursed his forgetfulness and, forcing the mist in his mind aside, jerked the arrow from where it had driven itself in his chain mail and cast it aside. He would never argue against the usefulness of armor again.

He heard Peter cry out in anger and alarm and pushed himself up in time to see Oreius and another creature charge back towards the enemy, clearly attempting to buy Peter enough time to escape. The centaur charged straight towards Jadis, the fell beasts diving out of the way of his sharp hooves and swords.

Legolas turned away and collected his sword from where he had dropped it in the fall, knowing the general had no chance. The least he could do in return was get Peter to safety. He snorted softly at the thought. Nowhere was safe now.

With shouts, the Narnian archers, headed by Edmund, left their posts and rushed down at the enemy, rallying the fleeing soldiers. The battle was joined once more.

Edmund immediately rushed up to his brother but asked no questions and said nothing, his eyes clearly speaking his relief for both their safety. Legolas nodded to both of them and spun away, sheathing his sword and grabbing his knives in time to deflect a blow and down an attacker. Now on foot, he preferred his knives. He would need to be exceedingly swift to keep an eye on both of them, especially since Peter seemed to be slightly overwhelmed.

His knives felt light and alive in his hands after holding the heavy broadsword, and he whirled and slashed his way through the enemy. Above them, there was the deafening screech of a griffin which was abruptly choked off, and he glanced up in time to see the now stone body of the creature smash into a rock ledge above them and shatter, raining down debris and crushing both fell beasts and Narnians.

Jadis was near.

Peter ducked under the protection of his shield, and Legolas reached forward and jerked Edmund back out of range of the falling stones. The dust settled, and Peter stood, glancing around in confusion. He wasn't hurt, for which Legolas was glad, but the elf had no time to think before a thick hand grabbed him around the waist and lifted him up into the air.

"What do we have here?" the giant asked, seeming quite curious. "You look quite like the blond one her majesty killed last night." He grasped a club loosely in his left hand, studying the elf and ignoring the fighting which roared around his ankles.

Dangling nearly twenty feet off the ground, Legolas glared at the offending creature. "Maybe," he answered curtly, "it's because I am."

The giant frowned, puzzled. "That can't be. You're dead."

"Clearly not," Legolas replied, glancing down. He could see no sign of Peter or Edmund, and that worried him more than he would have liked. Time to end this…irritating conversation. With a flick of his wrist, the dimwitted giant had made no move to restrain his arms, he threw one of his knives, the blade burying itself in the creature's throat.

With a growl of surprise and anger, the giant dropped him, hand scrabbling at his throat to remove the weapon. Legolas landed easily, sheathed his remaining knife, and grabbed his bow, placing an arrow between the giant's eyes just as his bloodied knife fell onto the grass before him.

The giant jerked back with a howl, and Legolas scrambled to retrieve his knife, ducking under the wild swing of the large club. Placing the knife in its sheath, he jumped to the side as the giant grabbed for him again, rolling out of reach. Notching another arrow, he placed this one more precisely in the large creature's eye.

Without waiting to see the results of his shot – he could hear the giant's pained bellow – Legolas pulled himself up the side of a short cliff, hoping to gain some height. The giant's hide was as thick as a troll's.

Once he reached the top of the cliff, he was level with the giant's shoulders, and he hesitated, watching as the creature turned in circles, staring at the ground, one hand held over the injured, searching for him. This would be difficult.

Taking a few steps back, he ran forward and jumped, landing precariously on the giant's shoulder. The giant startled, attempting to turn his head to see what had perched beside his head, but Legolas swiftly drew his sword and slit his throat. The elf sprang back to the top of the cliff as the creature collapsed limply.

Turning away, Legolas kept near the ridge of the cliff, searching the desperate struggle below him for Peter and Edmund. However, the two seemed to have vanished.

A low rumble swept across the battlefield, and Legolas' eyes shot over to the taller crag, formerly the location of some of the archers. A golden form appeared against the blue sky, loosing a roar which caused the very ground to shake and the enemy to quail with fear. A sudden stillness fell over the battlefield as the fighting abruptly paused, all eyes fixed on the figure.

Legolas just stared, his heart pounding, his mouth dry, his mind numbed with shock. This… this couldn't be. _He_ was dead – he had watched _Him _die. How was such a thing possible? Though the distance was far, he felt the Lion's compassionate yet chastising gaze fall upon him.

"_Where is your faith, My son?"_

"Aslan…." the word, torn between disbelief and joy, escaped him. He exhaled, shaking his head and trying to clear away the astonishment which confused his thoughts.

A low snarl behind him was his only warning, and he dropped on his back as a white tiger flew overhead, claws outstretched. Legolas stabbed upward, adrenaline dousing away the shock of Aslan's, striking the tiger in the stomach. The creature's momentum ripped the sword from his hands, and he jumped back to his feet only to pause, his eyes catching a flash of red fabric and long blond hair.

Not even bothering to retrieve his sword, he sprang down the side of the hill batting away any fell beasts that attacked him. He paused, crouched on a ridge, watching the scene directly below him.

Peter stumbled backwards, his sword raised defensively as Jadis attacked him in a fury of double bladed desperation, clearly wanting to finish him before Aslan arrived. Deflecting the young boy's strike, she reached forward and slid her blade behind his legs, jerking it forward.

Peter collapsed with a slight cry, his sword falling from his hands. He reached for it frantically, but Jadis lashed out at him, and he flung up his shield, barely blocking the blow. With a sneer, Jadis hooked away his shield, driving one of her swords down and pinning his right arm to the ground. Peter cried out in agony as Jadis coiled back for the final blow.

Springing forward, Legolas threw himself on Jadis, knocking them both to the ground. Though surprised, Jadis rolled swiftly to her feet, rage paling her face. "Will no one stay dead?" she spat. Reaching down, she grabbed a sword from the hand of a dead centaur.

Legolas picked himself off the ground and surveyed her coolly, his anger boiling within, carefully hidden away from his countenance. "We fight under fair terms now, Jadis."

She snarled and flew at him, made reckless by anger. Legolas brushed aside one blow and stepped towards her to avoid the other, ramming the hilts of both knives into her stomach. She stumbled away with pained gasp, swinging blindly to keep him back.

He let her regain her breath and equilibrium, and then she advanced more cautiously. For a few moments, they circled, rapidly trading blows until Legolas drew back, unwilling to keep up such close contact when armed with his knives. However, Jadis took his withdraw as a retreat and attacked with a victorious sneer, her movements swift but controlled.

Legolas jumped backwards, dodging the blades, startled by her sudden reprisal. One of her heavier swords knocked his knife from his hand, and he barely turned aside her other sword, leaving his left side open. She struck out hastily, and he jerked his arm up, catching her blade on his wrist guard.

Wincing as the force of the blow bent the steel down so that it bit deeply into his flesh, he kicked out, his boot catching her in the side and throwing her back. She gave an angry cry, bending over briefly, her eyes snapping irately.

Once more, he let her recover and bent down to retrieve his knife. Warm blood ran down his wrist, and he wiped his hand on the grass, leaving a red smear behind. He felt no pain and did not know how serious the injury was, but the strange numbness in the limb worried him. He shook it off and, seeing that Jadis had about gained her breath once more, shot towards her. He'd had enough of defensive. It was time for offensive.

Jadis barely had time to raise her swords to defend before Legolas was upon her, throwing aside all caution and venting his fury and hatred. She was clearly taken back by his sudden viciousness, and he used that to his advantage, his light knives much more agile than her heavy broadswords.

Still, she managed to block his attacks, though she remained in a constant retreat, the mocking scorn on her face replaced by the slightest hint of fear.

Legolas pushed aside one of her swords and struck out, slicing a deep cut across her unprotected right shoulder. She recoiled with a sharp intake of breath, once more stabbing blindly forward to keep him back.

She overextended, and he jumped forward into the blow, letting the blade pass between his arm and his body. Grabbing her forearm, he twisted it sharply, hearing a soft crack. Legolas swiftly stepped back and slammed his hand horizontally into her throat, cutting her cry of pain short.

Her sword fell from her hand, and she collapsed limply. Legolas, knives gripped tightly, stepped over her and stared impassively down at her agonized features, hearing her gasping breaths. A spark of pity flickered in his anger.

He knelt down beside her, resting his knives, already wet with blood against her throat. One simple movement, and he would end it – the war, the pain, the suffering – everything. Yet….

He could not seem to bring himself to kill her. Her green eyes stared up at him coldly, and his hands trembled and a thin scarlet stream flowed down her neck.

"_Wield these for Me…untouched by hate and desire for vengeance."_

Aslan's charge rang through his mind, and he drew a shuddering breath, realizing he had failed his Creator once more. Everyone he had slain this day, he'd slain with the bitter desire for revenge burning in his heart. The rage slowly evaporated, and he sighed, removing his weapons from her throat and suddenly becoming aware of his arm's aching.

Jadis' eyes sparked with contempt. "Too cowardly to kill me?" she asked, her tone venomous but raspy from his blow.

He looked down at her, meeting her gaze with a quiet assurance that surprised even him. The words, unbidden, came to mind, and he spoke them without thought. "As my grandfather spared your life, so also do I, for it is not the fate of my family to kill you."

She snorted in disbelief. "Then why are you here?"

He pushed himself to his feet, feeling strangely conflicted. "I do not know." He turned away, his eyes catching Peter's confused blue gaze. The boy had managed to wrench the sword from his arm and was still sitting where he had fallen. Clearly, the duel had seemed longer than it actually had been.

Legolas stopped by Peter's side and wordlessly held out his hand. With a nod, Peter took it and allowed himself to be hauled upright. No sooner had he shakily regained his feet than his eyes shot over towards Jadis, and he cried out in alarm. "Legolas!"

Legolas twisted to the side, but the Jadis' dagger smashed into his back, the chain main giving way beneath the pressure. The velocity knocked him down to his hands and knees, and he felt a dizzying rush of sharp pain.

He heard Peter give an angry shout, the brief clash of steel, and a sudden fearsome yet welcoming roar as a golden form flew over him. Forcing aside the weariness that suddenly washed over him, he reached back and jerked the dagger free. It was not a severe wound, merely painful.

With a soft moan, he shifted to his knees and turned around.

Aslan stood over Jadis' lifeless, bloodied form, and Legolas felt the tension dissolve from him. He gazed at the Lion, a soft amazement creeping through his senses once more. Eru was alive. _Alive! _And the Witch was dead.Was it finally over?

Aslan turned towards him, his gentle flaxen eyes sorrowful yet triumphant.

"It is finished."

o-0-o-0-o

**A/N: **Well? How'd you all like the battle? I know I got a little carried away. Seven pages of solid battle make that quite clear. What can I say? I enjoy writing fight scenes. Legolas finally beat Jadis, yet I didn't want anyone other than Aslan to kill her. It would have just been… wrong. -shrugs-

Anyway, I'd love to hear your thoughts. Please review, lest I make you wait another two months for the epilogue! Yes, this story is almost finished. -wipes away a tear- You've all been so wonderful and made this so worthwhile. :) I hope to hear from you!

Blessings! Ila


	11. Epilogue

**A/N: **Well… this is the end. Thank you to everyone who brighten my days with encouraging and uplifting reviews!

_**Pip4, jambaby1963, sazza-da-vampire, knighted lioness, Skitlez, szepilona10, milou8, Jedi Sapphire, Calenlass Greenleaf1, starset, Peregrin Ionad, Aya-Shoru, Calathiel of Mirkwood, Mini Librarian, Queen Su, AtlantisGirl, MakruTree, trecebo, astistic sprite, Tari Surion, FireChildSlytherin5, StrangerToTheWorld, Jimmy Candlestick, King Caspian the Seafarer, Yellow-Fluffy-Monster, fluffys-sidekick, **_and _**Protector of Canon2**_.

Please enjoy this last installment. – Ila

**Epilogue**

Legolas leaned on the stone balustrade of one of Cair Paravel's many terraces, staring out at the water. The waves glimmered golden under the setting sun, dazzling the elf's eyes and filling his mind with both sadness and joy. The beauty of the sea overwhelmed him, and he was almost regretful that it did not beckon to him.

The echo of laughter, music, and dancing drifted over to his secluded spot, but he paid the sounds little heed. It had been three days since the battle and the death of the Witch, and this day, the four siblings had been crowned. It had been a glorious ceremony, and the following celebrations had been going on for some time. Legolas had allowed himself to be swept along for a few hours, even teaching Susan and Lucy a simple elven dance, but had finally withdrawn.

He felt… confused. He still did not understand why he had been brought here. He had been certain that it was to kill Jadis, yet that had not come to pass. He wished to speak with Aslan but did not wish to pull the Lion from the festivities.

"What troubles you, My child?"

Legolas started and looked over to see the Lion himself studying him. The elf stepped back to Aslan's side and laid a hand on the coarse mane. "_Goheno nin, Eru_," he said. "I did not see you."

Aslan rumbled a soft laugh. "There is nothing to forgive." He cocked his magnificent head and looked deeply into Legolas' eyes. "You still wonder at your purpose here."

Legolas nodded wordlessly.

"Come," Aslan turned and headed for some stairs. "Walk with me."

Legolas fell into step beside him, and they made their way down from the palace to the warm sand of the beach. The quiet waves of evening licked the shore gently, and Legolas bent down to grasp a white pebble before the next wave reclaimed it.

Aslan watched him for a moment. "Look carefully at that pebble," he instructed. "Notice its smoothness and beauty. However, it was not always such. Formerly, it was rough and unattractive. What changed it?"

"The friction of the water," Legolas answered uncertainly.

Aslan nodded. "It was tossed by the waves, ground into the sand at the bottom of the sea; it was worn down and chipped until it became a thing of great beauty." He smiled softly, gazing out across the water. "You will face many trials in your life, Legolas; you have faced many already. They will wear you down, chip at your faith and resolve until there will seem no reason to go on. But if you cling to hope and to Me, you will immerge stronger than ever, and your life will be beautiful."

Legolas bowed his head, humbled by Aslan's words. He stared at the small stone cradled in his hand, running a finger gently over its surface, pondering the allegory.

"Trust in Me," the Lion continued. "I told you before that since Jadis had harmed many on Middle-earth that it was only right that one from that land be present at her judgment. You were chosen." Aslan looked up, his tender eyes catching and holding Legolas'. "I suppose your presence here could also be called a test."

Legolas blinked, surprised. "A test?" He looked away, sudden understanding and sorrow filling him. "You wanted to know how much I trust You. I failed. I disobeyed You at both the Stone Table and the battle. I refused to believe that You knew best, and I used Your blades out of anger and revenge."

Aslan stepped up to his side. "You did not fail, Legolas. You merely stumbled. Such is natural. You repented and redeemed yourself. I have already forgiven and forgotten your mistakes."

Legolas dropped to his knees, wrapping his arms around the Lion's neck, and burying his face in the mane as he had seen Lucy do many a time. "Thank you," he whispered.

Aslan purred, leaning into the embrace. "Never doubt My love for you, My son."

Legolas sighed, a warm feeling of contentment seeping through him. "I never will…" he paused "…_Adar_."

Aslan chuckled. "I have long wished for you to call Me that, elfling."

Legolas was silent for a long moment, not wanting this time to end. However, he could not hold back the question playing at the edge of his mind. "Why does this seem like a farewell?" he whispered, pulling back and searching the Lion's face.

"Your time here is done," Aslan replied.

Legolas bowed his head, feeling strangely accepting. "Will I come back?"

Aslan studied him for a moment. "Do you wish to?"

Legolas nodded. "I love it here. Now that the witch is dead, this land and her inhabitants are so peaceful and alive." His face grew troubled. "Not like Mirkwood."

"Peace, child," Aslan said gently. "Maintain hope, and Hope will come to you." He turned to face the water. "Come; follow me." Springing forward, he plunged into the water, disappearing under the calm surface.

Legolas glanced back at Cair Paravel, spotting Lucy watching them a balcony far above. His heart heavy at leaving the children, he raised his arm in farewell before turning and diving into the cool water after the Lion. The moment the water closed overtop him, a warm, welcoming darkness fell over his senses, and he allowed his consciousness to fade.

o-0-o-0-o-0-o-0-o

Legolas awoke to the sound of soft conversation in Sindarin and the popping and crackling of a campfire. His clothes were dry, and a blanket was laid over him, and he opened his eyes, setting them on large, dusky, and tangled boughs above him. He gave a soft sigh of relief, closing his eyes briefly. He was home.

The conversation ceased, and he reopened his eyes to the worried yet overjoyed face of his father. A moment later, he was clasp in his father's arms, breathing in the familiar smell of Thranduil's leather armor.

"_Ada_," he murmured, his voice muffled by the fabric of his father's tunic. "I've missed you."

Thranduil pulled back, clearly torn between relief and worry. "What happened?" he asked, still gripping Legolas' shoulders tightly as though afraid to let go. "You disappeared almost two weeks ago, and we searched everywhere. We found the remains of your patrol, but you were not there. I thought you had been taken!"

Legolas felt his heart twist painfully at the anguish in his father's eyes. "I'm sorry, _Adar_," he said. "We were taken by surprise. I managed to escape, but the orcs pursued me. They trapped me in a cave, and I fled deeper in but had no light. I remember falling…" he hesitated "…and then nothing."

Thranduil sighed softly. "We found you unconscious in a stream near the highlands only an hour ago. I suppose you could have fallen into an underground stream, though how the water carried you out without drowning you is beyond me."

Legolas glanced up at the stars, though they were hidden by the branches above. "Eru protected me," he said.

Thranduil gazed at him silently for a moment, his expression veiled. "Come," he said at last, standing. "If you feel well enough, let us head back to the palace immediately. Your siblings are frantic." He glanced over his shoulder at his guards, commanding them to prepare to move out. "We can talk more there," he said, and handed Legolas his weapons. "These were still on you when we found you."

Legolas took them gratefully, glad to see that they were not damaged. The king's guards greeted their prince with joy before taking to the trees, and Legolas followed them, keeping near his father. His senses were attuned to danger, but his thoughts were elsewhere, striding with a Lion across a grassy hill and walking through the sand beside the sea.

Suddenly pausing his advance, Legolas reached into a pocket of his tunic, drawing out a smooth white pebble. A soft smile crossed his face as he fingered it gently before replacing it and continuing his way toward homes.

"_Maintain hope, and Hope will come to you."_

_Trust Him when dark doubts assail thee,  
Trust Him when thy strength is small,  
Trust Him when to simply trust Him  
Seems the hardest thing of all.  
Trust Him, He is ever faithful,  
Trust Him, for His will is best,  
Trust Him, for the heart of Jesus  
Is the only place of rest.  
_– Anonymous

-End-

o-0-o-0-o

**Translations:**

_Goheno nin_ – Forgive me

_Adar/Ada_ – Father/Daddy

**A/N: **It's really hard for me to believe that this story is actually completed. It's both heartbreaking and exciting to know that I've finished my first lengthy fanfiction. Because all of you who have read and reviewed, writing this story has been an extremely rewarding experience. You've encouraged me and taught me, and I thank you all for sticking with me to the end. I'd love to hear what everyone thought of this final chapter and the story overall.

Keep a look out for the sequel!

God bless you all!

Ilada'Jefiv


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